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COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 




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JOSEPH BERT SMILEY, 

Poet and Htcmorist, 
GALESBURG, MICHIGAN. 



NORA, 



A MICHIGAN STORY OF 1893 



BY 



^^ JOSEPH BERT SMILEY. 



itiL n 1895 



1895 ^^'^ v^ASV^H 

SMILEY'S ENTERPRISE. 
Galesburg, Mich. 



^s'^^-X. 









Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1894, by J. B, Smiley, in the 

office of the Librarian ot Congress, at Washington. 

All RiGQTs Reserved. 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

MY MOTHER, 

WHOSE NAME WAS 

NORA, 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED. 



PREFACE. 



LET no-one think, in reading^ this book, that he can trace, in 
any character herein discribed, any corresponding character 
in real life. This cannot be done. There are some places 
in these pages where, to residents of Kalamazoo county, the likeness 
will seem very clear, but in the next page the lines of similarity again 
seperate, and no comparison can be drawn. That I have put into 
these pages certain of my own life's chapters, I do not deny, but they 
are scattered, and the fiction does not follow the line of the reality. 
I have used my own experiences and observations in life merely as 
material. 

In Nora I have tried to picture my idea of what a girl ought to be 
and can be. John Denton is a character we meet constantly in life, — 
the manly, straight-forward young man who advances beyond his 
father's furthest progress. The colonel, the heavy character of the 
piece, is made up of what I admire in many different men I know, 
with a streak of gloom which I do not admire at all. It is my wish 
that all men should learn at the out set what the colonel learned too 
late, — that there are too many good women on earth for one false 
one to spoil any man's life, and that the one way out of dissappoint- 
ment is upward and forward, — over and ahead of the entire nest in 
which you took your bitter pill. 



6 NORA. 

The other moral which I seek to bring forward is that when a 
young woman, of discretionery age, makes up her mind that she 
loves a certain man whom her better judgement knows is her equal or 
superior, then her only honest course is to marry him, no matter who 
objects. Let no woman dare do otherwise, as she values her life's 
happiness. If you are a woman, not a girl, — if you have a brain and 
a will of your own, use them. 

This book will, I expect, meet with some bitter criticism but I 
hope it may also find some degree of favor. 

Consigning it to the mercies of the public at large, I am. 

Respectfully, 

THE AUTHOR. 



NORA. 



CHAPTER I. 

"I must go, Mr. Stevens, the music's begun. 
I've this polka engaged. You request the next one? 
Of course, — with much pleasure, — this polka — let's see- 
Mr. Clifford — I think he is looking for me. 
My fan has been broken and I don't see how. 
Mr. Clifford is tardy — no, here he comes now." 
Both gentlemen bowed with a good-natured glance, 
And Nora and Clifford were lost in the dance. 
The polka is maybe the hardest hard work 
Young people persist in and never will shirk. 



8 NORA. 

So Nora and Clifford, amid the gay throng 

And whirlpool of dancers, went rushing along 

Till, pausing at length with the music's last strain, 

A-weary in muscle and dizzy in brain, 

The two promenaded. He fanned her, the while 

They chatted with many a glance and a smile. 

A most striking couple, indeed, was this pair, — 

This handsome Jim Clifford and Nora St. Clair, 

(So thought Nora's mother as, sitting aside. 

She beamed on them kindly, with true mother's pride.) 

"By the way, Mr. Clifford," said Nora St. Clair, 
"Who is that strange gentleman, right over there? 
He has a fine face and a good-natured smile. 
Yet seems to feel just a bit awkward, the while, 
Looks bright and intelligent to a degree, — 
You know all these gentlemen, — who may he be?" 
Mr. Clifford beamed down upon Nora St. Clair 
With a calm, condescending and dignified air. 



\ 



NORA. 

"That is Denton — John Denton — reports for The Press. 

Their new city editor — hayseed, I guess. 

He is 'out in society,' — that's plain to tell, — 

And his evening dress doesn't set very well. 

He would feel more at home hauling pumpkins, I fear, 

Than he does in his broadcloth and fine linen, here." 

And Jim Clifford laughed in a mild, pleasing way. 

And spoke of the orchestra starting to play, 

They dropped Mr. Denton and his presumed faults, 

And again they were lost in the maze of the waltz. 

And there let us leave them a moment, and see 

What the subject of Clifford's remarks seems to be. 

John Denton had been, when at home, as a boy. 

Engaged on a farm, in his father's employ, 

But always had had an impatient desire 

For a different work — something better and higher. 

His father was poor, but some money had won, 

And was willing to spend it in helping his son. 



10 NORA. 

So Denton the younger had managed to gain 

A good education as most boys obtain. 

He had taught district school, and consented to try 

To send in the news to a paper near by. 

One summer vacation a start he had made 

In a friend's printing-office, had fancied the trade. 

Had given up teaching and kept his new place. 

For a year and a half he had *'held down a case," 

Then turned to reporting, and later his friend 

Had bolstered him up with a good recommend. 

And the night that we meet him he'd been just a week 

On the paper of which we have heard Clifford speak, 

As full City Editor. Friends he had few. 

There were only a half-dozen people he knew 

In the town; but he thought it was better to go 

Well-dressed to the ball he reported, and so 

We find him the evening in question. His glance 

Follows this one and that one around in the dance 

JVs, a good deal in doubt what to do with his hands, 



NORA. II 

By a post in the corner he awkwardly stands. 

The music has ceased, and Jim Clifford, once more, 

Is smiling on Nora and pacing the floor. 

"Mr. Clifford," she said, "will you introduce me 

To this Mr. Denton? I'm sure he must be 

Entertaining. Besides, he has stood there alone 

The whole of the evening." If Clifford had known 

Things were taking this turn he had spoken more slow. 

However, there nothing remained but to go 

Like a lamb to the slaughter. *'Yes, surely," he said 

''I should be most delighted," and thereupon led 

The lady where Denton stood bashfully there. 

Clifford bowed. "Mr. Denton, my friend Miss St. Clair." 

John started and blushed in a comical way, 

Then managed to bow to the lady and say 

He was much pleased to meet her. Jim Clifford stood by 

With a sneer on his lips and a look in his eye 

Which John quickly noticed. His cheeks' ruddy fire 



12 NORA. 

Was partly embarrassment, partially ire 

As he took Nora's card, asked permission to fill 

In the first empty number, a Lanciers' quadrille, 

Then handed it back with a smile and a bow, 

(He had found his assurance and dignity now,) 

And just as the silence maintained by the three, 

(No subject for discourse there seeming to be,) 

Was growing oppressive, and soon to be feared 

For the reign of good feeling, Joe Stevens appeared, 

Announced that the music was starting to play 

And, claiming his polka, took Nora away. 

Then John, for an instant, looked sharply at Jim, 

And Jim, for a second, stared boldly at him. 

And the two had no use for each other at all, 

So they started for different parts of the hall. 

Jim left the ball room, in search of a drink. 

And Denton backed up in the corner to think. 

He followed Miss Nora along with his glance 

As she played hide-and-seek in the maze of the dance. 



NORA. 13 

Now maybe to see her he vainly would try 

As the dense crowd of strangers went hurrying by, 

Then anon she'd appear, — only flash into view 

To be hidden again in a moment or two. 

Then he looked for some sign that would serve him the best 

To distinguish her quickly from all of the rest. 

Nora's costume was white, but so others were, too, 

There was one other girl who wore ribbons of blue, 

But she had her hair up on top of her head 

While Nora wore hers in a low coil, instead. 

Thus Denton, while waiting, kept watching the whirl 

Of thick-mingling dancers for one little girl. 

White dress, then blue ribbons, then hair fastened low, 

Now see her, now miss her, — out, in, to and fro, 

He followed her motions with quick-changing sight 

Like a boatman the glitter of some harbor-light. 

Then the polka was finished, the next his quadrille. 

In the rush*and confusion John Denton stood still 

Till the ladies were seated, and then, crossing o'er. 



14 NORA. 

He escorted Miss Nora out on to the floor 

Where the dancers were forming. They scarely were all 

In place before sharply there came the first call 

Of "Salute your partners!" Then busy were they 

With rapid manoevers in usual way. 

The caller the time so completely did fill 

That all their attention went to the quadrille. 

The moments so closely were used by the dance 

That not till its closing had Denton a chance 

For talking to Nora an instant, and then 

Some dancer was certain to claim her again. 

In expressing his pleasure he added, "And yet 

I feel. Miss St. Clair, a decided regret 

That they kept us in motion the whole quadrille through, 

With no chance of becoming acquainted with you." 

The fair Nora looked down at the hard polished floor, 

And answered "Our number is six-twenty-four 

West "Jefferson street, between Jackson and Paul. 

I think you can find it if you choose to call." 



NORA. 15 

Then she looked up at John, — he was laughing outright. 

He said "Thank you — I'll be there some evening. Good night.'* 

If Nora, that instant, and standing right there, 

Could have got her small fingers in John Denton's hair 

I presume that the chances are upwards of half 

That a bunch of his forelock had paid for that laugh. 

As Denton, with hat on, looked in at the door. 

He caught sight of Nora again on the floor. 

White dress, then blue ribbons, then hair fastened low, 

Now see her, now miss her, — in, out, to and fro. 

He stood for a moment just watching the whirl 

Of the fast-changing dancers for one little girl. 

Then he lit his cig?r. and in midnight's dull gloom 

Through the echoi] g streets, hurried home to his room. 

And all the night long, as he lay on his bed. 

The strains of the orchestra rang through his head. 

Half sleeping, half waking, half-conscious, all night, 

Till the crowing cocks heralded morning's gray light. 

Still he dreamed of the ball and the great rushing throng 



i6 NORA. 

That, crowding and jostling, went surging along, 

And one central figure gleamed out from afar 

In his dream's dim horizon like some brilliant star. 

White dress, then blue ribbons, then hair fastened low, 

Now see her, now miss her, — in, out, to and fro, — 

His senses still reeling, his brain in a whirl. 

With sleep, — and the music, — and one little girl. 

When Nora went home with her mother that night, 
Fatigue had diminished her eyes' brilliant light. 
She was sleepy and tired, and in the black gloom 
Of the unlighted hallway she groped to her room. 
She lighted the gas, took the flowers from her hair, 
Threw her fan on the dresser, her wraps in a chair, 
And while pulling out hair-pins this strange little elf 
Stood in front of the mirror and talked to herself. 
*'What will that man think? He will know pretty well 
That I asked to meet him — I guess he could tell, — 
And then won't he think it was awfully queer 



NORA. 

That right after that I invited him here? 

I thought he was bashful, and awkward, and he. 

While I tried to assist him, was laughing at me! 

Oh the wretch! He has surely no feeling at all! 

He laughed and I hate him! I — wonder'f — he'll — call." 



17 



CHAPTER II. 

Seconds weave into minutes, and not a one stays, 

But they spin into hours, and the hours into days, 

Until to account for them vainly we try 

When the calendar tells us a week has «"one b\^ 

Thus Nora had done almost nothing at all 

When a week had elapsed since the night of the ball, 

On a bright afternoon with her mother she sat. 

Engaged in re-trimming a last season's hat, 

The while that her mother was fixing a dress. 

Their income, of late yeaVs, had been growing less 

And much making-over was done b}' the two 

Which the mother especially disliked t) do; 

And as they were working in good earnest there, — 

This handsome Miss Nora and Mrs. St. Clair, — 



NORA 19 

While their needles were busy their ton<^ues were not still, 
But they mixed work and gossip, as women-folks will. 
Quoth Nora "And now the exuberant Jim 
Has asked me to go to Modjeska with him." 
"And of course you've accepted?" Then Nora, 

"Well, no,— 
I haven't, and, further, I don't think I'll go." 
"Why not?" asked the madam. 

"Well, Mother, you see 
Jim Clifford is quite too attentive to me 
And I don't think I like him." 

"And why not, I pray? 
You might look about you for many a day 
And not find his equal. He's quite wealthy, too. 
I believe I'd encourage him if I were you." 
"He is handsome," said Nora, — "has plenty of pelf, 
But he holds too exalted a view of himself. 
He is too domineering in every whim. 
And I have no intention of marrying him. 



20 NORA. 

So, as that is quite plainly his object in view, 

I believe I will cut him off short; — wouldn't you?" 

Then the mother, the sensible Mrs. St. Clair. 

Laid down her work with a look of despair. 

"You're enough to exhaust all my patience," she said. 

"Can I ever, my daughter, get into your head 

The paramount wisdom of wedding a man 

Who will brighten your life as the rich only can? 

This love-in-a-cottage, with moss-roses sweet, 

And honey and kisses, and nothing to eat 

Is a beautiful faacy, but never w^ould do 

For a well-educated young lady like you. 

It is easy to love a young man who has means 

As one who has nothing. 'Tis money that screens 

A woman from hardship. A man may be good. 

And love you and care for you all as he should, 

But without ample means to provide for his wife 

He can give little happiness into her life. 

I would not have marry a wealthy roue 



NORA. 21 

But you meet cultured gentlemen every day 

Who are able to give you what your taste demands. 

Mr. Clifford is rich, and I'm sure at his hands 

You'd receive every kindness and comfort. I pray 

Don't offend Mr. Clifford and send him away 

Till you've thought of this matter, my child, as you shoi.ld. 

It is not for me, Nora, but for your own good." 

Nora held up the hat she was trimming, and took 

Pi the last-added ribbon a critical look. 

*T — wish — I'd — the — cash for a new one, "said she. 

"It is after five, Mother, — I'll go and get tea." 

While the two w^ere at supper they chatted away 

About various matters, but nothing said they 

Any further of marriage, or money, or Jim. 

The two were alone, and the lamp burning dim, 

And there they still sat when their frugal repast 

Had long since been finished, till, startled at last 

By the bell, the hall lamp must be lighted before 

They would answer the summons and open the door, 



22 NORA. 

And finally, when they'd accomplished all that, 
Colonel Warren stood gracefully lifting his hat, 
And, entering, straight helped himself to a chair, 
Glanced around and inquired for Mrs. St. Clair, 
(Who had vanished from sight but an instant before, 
After helping her daughter unfasten the door). 

As the Colonel was not an unusual guest 

At the home of these ladies, perhaps I had best 

Introduce him at once to the kind reader here 

Ere Mrs. St. Clair condescends to appear. 

Colonel Warren was fifty, — a man of the world. 

To its mercies when only a child he'd been hurled. 

He had first been. a chore-boy, then later a clerk. 

He had minded his business and stuck to his work, 

Had gradually risen in civil career 

Till the news of Fort Sumter's disgrace reached his ear, 

Then off with the army, scarce twenty years old, 

He was ardent and fearless, — e'en overly bold, 



NORA. 23 

And, escaping unwounded. had risen in rank 

From private to colonel, with no one to thank 

But his own valiant self. At the close of the war 

He had sta}'ed at the work he was best fitted for 

In the regular arm}'. In seventy-one 

When the mining excitement had fairl}' begun. 

He'd command of Fort Yuba, where some of the best 

And wealthiest mines ever in the southwest 

Were opened. The colonel in some way had found. 

Like man\- another, down under the ground 

Of dry Arizona a mountain of gold. 

Then several years later his claim he sold, 

Resigned his commission, and mo\'ed to the east. 

B}' careful investments his wealth had increased 

And 'tis thus that we meet him, a bachelor still, 

Cultivating his whims, as a bachelor will. 

After nxing her frizzes with suitable grace. 
And brushing her powder-puff over her face. 



24 NORA. 

And donning a suitable company air, 

She entered the parlor, — did Mrs. St. Clair, 

And gracefully raising her handsome brown eyes 

With the proper amount of apparent surprise, 

This good-looking widow extended her hand. 

And welcomed the colonel, serenely and bland, 

While Nora, well knowing her part in the play, 

Made a fitting excuse and got out of the way. 

But scarce had she entered her own chamber, when 

She was summoned to answer the door-bell asrain. 

And this time 'twas Denton. She colored up some. 

"I wasn't quite sure you intended to come, 

But I'm glad that you did. Mr. Denton," said she, 

"When gentlemen come here to call upon me 

I don't make a practice of taking them in 

To spend the whole evening with all of my kin. 

But a friend is here calling on Mother, and so. 

As there's no other room into which we can go, 

With this explanation I'll take you in there." 



NORA. 25 

**I am sure I'd be pleased to meet Mrs. St. Clair 
And her friend, but it seems quite untimely in me 
To interrupt them." 

"Oh no, not at all. 
I am glad you decided to make me a call; — 
Walk in, Mr. Denton." She opened the door 
To the room she had left but a moment before. 
Introductions then followed in usual way, 
And each one had something quite proper to say. 
But the evening's moments dragged slowly along, 
With the atmosphere cross-ways and everything wrongs 
To be bright and agreeable everyone tried, 
And each one was thoroughly dissatisfied 
With himself and the others. Some demon in air 
Was dictating terms to the company there. 
As they wearied themselves with agreeable arts, 
While greatly annoyed down deep in their hearts. 
Nowhere in the company did Cupid dwell. 
And no.one had any great secret to tell. 



26 NORA. 

Still had a partition between them been run, 

Making two parties instead of the one, 

The demon in air would have been a sweet elf, 

And each of the four had enjoyed himself. 

The colonel was first to by action confess 

That he didn't consider the call a success 

When he rose, very early, to make his adieu. 

Then Denton, embarassed, said he must go too. 

The good-nights were formal, 'mid pleasant small talk, 

And the two men together went down the front walk. 

Said John, "I'd no way, Sir, of know'ing this all, 

So you'll have to excuse me for spoiling your call." 

The colonel laughed softly. "Its all right," said he, 

"You needn't make any excuses to me. 

Their house is quite small. Never met you, I guess. 

Think somebody said you report for the Press." 

■*'I do," replied Denton. The colonel a^^ain. 

"I generally know all the newspaper men. 

I live at the Warwick. It's early, I see. 



NORA. 

Have you time to go up there and visit with me?" 

''I'd be pleased to," said John. "I am lonesome and blue 

The evenincrs when I have nothing to do." 

They ascended a marble stair, — onl)- one flight, — 

Colonel opened the door and at once had a light. 

He started a fire that was laid in the grate, 

And which crackled and snapped at a right merry rate. 

Two big patent rockers he drew to the fire. 

Two foot-rests as high as a man could desire. 

Then a box of cigars from the mantel he took, 

And passed them to John with a questioning look. 

John took one, and lit it. Both watched the gray smoke 

From their lips curling upward. At length Colonel spoke. 

"From the stiff introductions when you came in there 

I infer you've but recently met Miss St. Clair." 

''Last week was the first, at the Union Club ball." 

"You dance then?" 

"Yes, surely, — were you in the hall?" 
"No I never dance." 



27 



28 NORA. 

"You object to it, then, — 
Have you scruples against it?" The colonel again. 
"Not many objections to dancing I've found, 
And neither have I to a merry-go-'round 
Where you get on blue horses with staring glass eyes» 
And tin ears pricked up in well-varnished surprise; 
Then with what gingerbread the occasion demands. 
You smile on your girl and hold one of her hands, 
The man turns the crank and the hand-organ starts, 
And you smile very wide with the joy in your hearts. 
This amusement is harmless, and good, and all that, 
But it always struck me as exceedingly flat." 
"Why Colonel." said John. "Do you think it is fair 
That thing with a fashionable ball to compare?" 
"Well, — maybe it isn't," he thoughtfully said, 
"The merry-go-'round is a long way ahead." 
"Tell me how you make that out." 

'T can't, very well. 
Our time is too short, and there's too much to tell." 



NORA. 29 

^*Well, indicate one or two points you have found 
Where a ball is excelled by a merry-go-'round." 
"As far as I've noticed, the ladies who ride 
On these paint-bedaubed steeds, in their innocent pride, 
Are dressed. On their persons no lustful eyes fall, — 
Which is more'n you can say of the fashionable ball." 
John Denton was thoughtful. "Perhaps that is so. 
It is very late, Colonel, I think I must go." 
"Good-night, come up often," 

"I will." Denton said, 
Then he hurried away to his room and his bed. 

When the callers had gone, the two ladies sat down. 
On the brow of the elder the trace of a frown. 
*'Who is this Mr. Denton — whose son may he be? 
What property, prospects, or business has he?" 
'T don't know," said Nora, "We met at the ball, 
He was real nice to me, and I asked him to call." 
"And who introduced you?" 



30 NORA. 

"Jim Clifford." 

"Oh well, 
He may be quite proper, for all we can tell, 
But I feel quite determined that you shall not go 
With men not in society. Well do I know 
The suff' ring occaisoned by being the bride 
Of a person unable to fitly provide." 
"Would it not be worse, Mamma, beyond any doubt. 
To be wed to a man vou cared nothino; about?" 
*'You must learn to. There's much that experience brings. 
When you're older, my daughter, you'll know 'bout these things." 
Then they locked up the house. There was nothing more said. 
They exchanged their Good- nights and went straightway to bed. 



CHAPTER III. 

Time is not measured, in Life's busy ways, 
As the almanac has it, b\^ weeks and by days, 

But we figured Life's chapters, their varied course through 

And mark their duration, by things that we do. 

Loner years, uneventful, like swift moments flv. 

While hours, heavy laden, as ages drag by. 

So whether a week or a month had gone past 

Since the time of the incidents chronicled last 

Can make little diff'rence. The next thing that came 

To our heroine's life that our notice can claim 

Was a drive with Jim Clifford. His prancing bay team 

And the excellent sleighing had made the man seem 

More attractive to Nora than usual; so 

When he drove up and asked her, she said she would go. 



32 NORA. 

While Nora was dressing without extra care, 

Jim sat in the parlor, and Mrs. St. Clair 

Of calm, glassy smiles and of compliments bland 

Was giving him all that she thought he would stand. 

The amount of strained honey a fellow will eat 

Depends on his ratio of brains and conceit, 

And the lady well knew Clifford's principal store 

Was the latter, and so she kept laying on more 

With a calmly deliberate, well-practiced touch, 

And a very large dose wasn't any too much. 

So Jim, as he earnestly listened, began 

To conclude that he really was more of a man 

Than he'd ever imagined, and, vaguely and dim, 

As the Madam talked on, 'twas occurring to him 

These were very agreeable ladies. The door 

Was opened, and Nora there entered. She wore 

A simple brown dress and a cloak trimmed with fur. 

The costume was very becoming to her. 

She was quite handsome anyway. Figure and face 



NORA. . 33 

Were models of shapely, symmetrical grace, 

"Now take care of my daughter," purred Mrs. St. Clair. 

"It is well you can handle that spirited pair, 

For I'm sure to wild antics they'd come very close 

With a less skillful driver." W^ith this final dose 

Jim drove down the street, in his joy and his pride. 

While Nora quite modestly sat by his side. 

They proceeded in silence for some little while, 

Miss Nora was solemn. No light happy smile 

Played over her features. Instead, was a trace 

Of troubled anxiety shown on her face. 

For some hidden reason her spirits would fall, 

And she couldn't enjoy the sleighing at all. 

But Jim chattered on about dances and balls, 

And theatres, dinners, and parties and calls, 

And then, waxing sober, "Miss Nora," said he 

"Why are you, of late, so indifferent to me? 

I thought for a time I had won your regard. 

Then something unseen must my progress retard, 



34 NORA. 

And you wouldn't go anywhere with me. I pray 

Have I chanced to offend you in some careless way?" 

The look of anxiety on Nora's face 

Increased as she answered with womanly grace, 

"No. I'm not offended, as \^ou can well see. 

It was just that you grew too attentive to me 

And I did not desire it, I'm sure I don't know 

How to tell you that better than just not to go." 

He couldn't see through it. 'Twas puzzling to Jim 

That a girl shouldn't want much attention from him. 

He was silent for several minutes, and then 

He collected his courage and tried it again. 

"But I haven't played any deception on you, 

As many rich fellows so frequently do. 

I have really quite liked you, — yes, truly that's so, — 

And you never can tell what may come, donchu-know. 

My people think I am becoming too gay, 

And they wish I'd get married, — that's just what they say, — 

And I really don't know any young lady who, 



NORA. - 

Why what are you laughing- at? What pleases you?" 

Nora's look of anxiety now had all fled 

And a smile of amusement had come in its stead. 

"I was thinking 'bout England," she quietly said, 

"And how strange it must be, from the books I have read. 

And the Irish, — how funny, — they make fires of sod. 

I suppose, Mr. Clifford, that you've been abroad." 

The hint was enough, and for nearly an hour 

He exhausted all efforts that lay in his power 

In describing to Nora the things he had seen 

While travelling in Europe. With interest keen 

She listened. Whenever he paused to reflect 

She asked about something that he'd recollect 

And tell her about. So she kept him away 

From dangerous topics till homeward went they. 

Wlien she told him how much she'd enjoyed the ride, 

Her dancing eyes showed that her lips hadn't lied, 

And Jim drove away, with all doubt on the shelf, 

Still deeper in love with the girl — and himself. 



35 



36 NORA. 

When Nora came in, said her mother to her 
*'You look very happy, from which I infer 
You enjoyed your drive. I am glad, daughter dear, 
That to my careful precepts you're now giving ear. 
On a prize like Jim Clifford your time is well spent. 
He is worth half a million, if he's worth a cent." 
Like a dutiful child these memarks Nora heard, 
Then she went to her room without saying a word. 

With a warm, cheery fire burning brisk in his grate 

Colonel Warren sat smoking, a little past eight, 

When a step in the hall and a rap at his door 

Interrupted his fancies and musings galore. 

He shouted ''COME IN!" from a vigorous throat, 

i 
Then added "Hello Johnny, — take off your coat. 

Help yourself to cigars, — on the mantle-piece there, — - 

This fire is real comf'table. Draw up a chair. 

Saw Jimmy out driving with Nora to-day 

With his father's fine horses, — he's growing quite gay." 



NORA. 

"He's a fool," muttered Denton. "His head is too big! 

He's a feathered-brained jay, an insufferable prig." 

"Well, why is it, Johnny, a man of pretense, 

Of unerring judgement, and good common sense 

Will select a fair lady and then will start in 

By every device her affections to win. 

Yet there's nothing too mean of another to say, 

Who selects the same girl, and proceeds the same way?' 

"Give it up," replied John — but 'tis easy to see 

When you're talking logic you're too much for me." 

"Well Johnny, you'll grant me, without any doubt. 

That the longer you live, why the more you find out. 

But regarding the women this hardly is so, 

For the loneer man lives, less about 'em he'll know. 

They are ruthless deceivers, wherever they dwell. 

They have kept men a-dancing since old Adam fell." 

"But how is it, Colonel, — you seem to find 

More evil than virtue in woman-kind, 

And yet you seek their society still?" 



38 NORA. 

"Yes," said the Colonel, "I alwa}^s will. 

When you think one is true and discover she's not 

It sours you, but, Johnny, I tell you what, — 

There is something about 'em, I may as well ow^n. 

Makes it hard for a fellow to leave 'em alone." 

**But how is it, Colonel, I once heard you say 

That to marry in youth was the only true way;— 

That without a good wife, man a wand'rer must be 

Like a pilotless ship in tempestuous sea, — 

That a bachelor, reckless, life's billows would roam 

And that goodness and happiness only meant Home, — 

That the head of a home was the richest of men. 

Now how does it happen that you are here, then. 

Past fifty, and single?" 

"Well Johnny, you see, 
I was always so ugly they wouldn't have me," 
**No, — really. Colonel, all nonsense aside, — 
With the views you express, why had you not a bride 
These many years since? You must certainly set 



NORA. 39 

That your preaching and practice but poorly agree." 

Then the colonel, half serious, "I'm not a man 

Who believes in the single fatality plan. 

I've never believed that the rulings of Fate 

Have made for each man and each woman one mate, 

And that these wander, lonely, Life's dark valley through 

Till they meet, then there's something they say or they do 

That each knows the other. They clasp heart to heart, 

And ten yoke of oxen can't tear 'em apart. 

I have never believed in that notion, I say, 

But if I'm in error, and that is the way. 

When the right one is sent, that my life shall be blest. 

Maybe I'll be content and in clover shall rest. 

Now if. on the other hand, my view^ is right. 

And w^e're free moral agents, in our Maker's sight, 

Without any dictates, or fated behest. 

To select our own spouses, as each deemeth best, 

Then I haven't yet met with the w^oman, you see. 

Whom both heart and judgment commended to me." 



40 'NORA. 

Still Denton persisted. "You don't mean to say 
That you never have loved?" 

"Did I state it that way?" 
"Well, no, but your manner of speaking is such 
That you natually leave one inferring as much." 
"Well, I was in love, Johnny, and desperately, too, 
When I guess that I must have been younger than you. 
Well, I lost — that is all. It's about thirty years 
Since I passed through that whirlwind of anger and tears, 
And I've never loved since, although that's not a bar 
If I found the right one. Johnny, have a cigar. 
I like these Key Westers. They're better than drink 
When my brain is stirred up. and I don't want to think." 
The boy realized, as he took the cigar, 
He had crowded the colonel a little too far. 
So he took up his hat, when the weed was alight. 
And then bade the colonel a timely "good night." 



CHAPTER IV. 

Potatoes are plain living, pastry is high, 

Dimes are potatoes, and riches are pie. 

Love is good health, which true happiness brings. 

Disappointment is sickness, which rankles and stings. 

Now the plan to proceed on, in earth's constant strife, 

For the most satisfaction and comfort in life. 

Is to find of potatoes your daily supply, 

Then care for your health, and go lastly for pie. 

If an honest, plain living seems certain to you 

Then the next thing you want is a love, pure and true. 

Then, easy and happy in home light sublime, 

Go after the riches whene'er you have time. 

If disease or deformity is your hard share. 

You can patiently live 'neath the load you must bear, 



42 NORA. 

And all of Life's dainties will help, it is true, 

In easing the burden that's fastened on you. 

Yet who would deliberately trade away health, 

Accepting disease, for a mountain of wealth? 

Just so, if in marriage you've made a mistake 

(Which fully two-thirds of this earth's creatures make) 

You can meekly and patiently carry your cross 

And wealth can assist you in bearing }^our loss. 

But who calmly and cooly has ma,rried for gold, 

Who honest affection for money has sold, 

Shall find that his castle doth happiness lack. 

And all the world's riches can't purchase it back. 

"From whom is that letter?" said Mrs. St. Clair 

With quite a severe and anthorative air. 

Said Nora ''It's from Mr. Denton, I guess. 

The envelope-corner is printed The Press." 

"A charming epistle, I haven't a doubt. 

And what has he, pray, to address you about?" 

"He invites me," said Nora, her eyes flashing bright. 



NORA. 

*'To go to the opera next ^Monday night." 

"He would force hiniself into good company so? 

It is useless, my child. I forbid }^ou to go." 

Miss Nora was silent, and meek as could be. 

And musingly thoughtful, then "Mother," said she, 

"If I don't go with anyone onh^ just Jim 

He will think we are terribh' in love with him 

And then he will slight us. 'Twas Jim himself, too, 

Introduced Mr. Denton, and I've tried to do 

The polite thing to both of them all the while; so, 

As they likely are splendid friends, I didn't know, — 

(Here a queer little smile 'round the pretty mouth crept),- 

But perhaps, since he's asked me, I'd better accept." 

The fair Nora looked down with a calm, pensive air 

While the keen, searching glances of ]\Irs. St. Clair 

Were bent full upon her. 'T don't know," said she, 

"What this Mr. Denton may turn out to be. 

He is very presumptuous, — probably poor, — 

I've nothing against the young man, I am sure. 



43 



44 NORA. 

* 

But I thought he showed signs of attachment for you 

Which no man of his station ever shall do, 

And one can't be too careful. Yet if, as you say, 

This courtesy came in a casual way 

From a friend of Jim Clifford — 'tis not best to lose 

His good will. I care not, — proceed as you choose." 

Nora looked at her mother and no word she said. 

But went to her chamber, sat down on her bed, 

And wrote an acceptance, then said with a sigh, 

"I told her no story, but acted a lie. 

Mr. Denton is lovely — I like him real well, 

Jim Clifford is horrid, but I couldn't tell 

That to Mamma. She wants to have me marry Jim. 

He is silly enough; — what would I want of him? 

I think if girls' mothers just wouldn't act so 

Girls wouldn't deceive 'em. Oh dear! I don't know 

What to think about Mamma. She w^ants Jim to call 

And its money and money and MONEY — that's all." 

The smile and the giggle all fled from her face 



NORA. . 45 

And a troubled expression returned in its place 
As she put on her wraps and went silently out 
And posted her letter. There lingered a doubt 
If her action was just, in her conscience' keen sight, 
But she made up her mind it was proper and right. 

Monday came, so did Denton, and Mrs. St. Clair 
Appeared at the door with a most gracious air 
And ushered him into the parlor, and he 
Was courteously passive and silent, while she 
Did the most of the talking. She spoke of how fine 
The weather had been, then with calmness benign 
She told him how much had the Press been improved 
Since his work began there. But John never moved. 
He bowed and he smiled when the moment was right, 
And he made some remarks that were surely polite, 
But his eye-lids were half-closed, as if from the light. 
And the left one a little bit more than the right 
As he looked at the lady as though he would say 



46 NORA. 

That he understood clearly her part in the play. 

His searching look wasn't exactly a stare 

But 'twas very offensive to Mrs. St. Clair, 

Who knew that he didn't believe her. In fact 

It made little diff'rence how either should act, 

Their simple plain presence each other would roil. 

And they no more could mingle than water and oil. 

Nora's manner was frank and was free from all art 

As she came in and asked if 'twas time they should start. 

John thought that it was, — he disliked to be late 

And it now only lacked a few minutes of eight. 

As they went down the walk John remarked "Miss St. Clair 

I did not bring a carriage. The evening is fair. 

My salary is small, and I thought it but vain 

To assume any style which I cannot maintain." 

Nora said 'T assure you that that is all right, 

I'm accustomed to walk, and esteem it no slight. 

Indeed, I consider it much better taste 

To walk, such a night, than the m^ney to waste 



NORA. . 47 

For a carriage. It must be two months, pretty near, 

Since you came to Lansing. Do you like it here?" 

"Why yes, very well, though my work is quite new, 

And I'm sometimes at loss to know just what to do. 

My task is reporting — it's telling the news, 

And I mustn't put in my opinions and views 

With the facts I report. This is quite hard for me, 

As I have my own notions of all that I see. 

Now to-day, for example, it fell to my share 

To report an elopement, — a lively affair 

W^hich made much excitement. The parents, of course 

Are excedingly bitter, resenting, perforce, 

Any praise of the bridegroom, while my views are quite 

In his favor. I think he did perfectly right, 

But I didn't dare say so. My space I must fill 

With a statement of facts, and beyond that, keep still." 

"Then you favor elopements?" Said John, 

"That depends 
Upon what sort of reason such action defends." 



48 NORA. 

"I don't think so," said Nora. I think it is weak. 

It has too much the air of the coward, or sneak." 

"But", Denton insisted, "pray what would you do 

If your parents persisted in forbidding you 

To wed as you wished to. Would you then obey 

Their solemn commands, or would you run away?" 

"I wouldn't do either. If I was of age. 

And if I thought proper myself to engage 

To marry a man whom I loved most of all 

I would stay there and do it, whate'er should befall." 

"If you weren't of age, and obedience must find, — " 

"I would wait till I was, — and perhaps change my mind." 

They entered the theater. Music and light 

Enchanted the senses and dazzled the sight. 

The evening passed like a beautiful dream, 

'Mid satins' rich shimmer and diamonds' gleam. 

The music seemed like to a heavenly spell. 

And the stage like the corner of some fairy dell 

Where beings of fancy have nothing to do 



NORA. - 49 

But to sing sweetest strains all their happy lives throuo-h. 

Not till lowered the curtain upon the last act 

Did life again seem like an actual fact. 

Then wraps were put on and with slow-moving feet 

They came, with the crowd, to the dark, chilly street. 

Nora shivered and tightly she clung to John's arm 

As if he, in some manner, could keep her blood warm. 

No word uttered Denton as onward they sped, 

But the way to a fashionable restaurant led, 

Where, over hot coffee and o}"sters, they soon 

Were talking again to a right lively tune. 

"Have }^ou read much of P^liot?" Nora enquired. 

John was posted as well as she could have desired. 

Then, giving her head a half-coquettish toss, 

"Well what do you think of The Mill on the Floss?" 

"Why? In what particular? How do you mean?" 

"Well, about Maggie TuUiver." 

"She fell between 
Two courses of action. She started on one, 



50 NORA. 

Then hadn't the courage for what she had done 

And tried to undo it. She fell, from mere doubt, — 

Too weak to go through, and too weak to keep out. 

Had she kept to her purpose to wed Stephen Guest 

She'd retained her good name, and had likely been blest 

With a long, happy life. Or, if she had but thrown 

Her desire to the winds and had let him alone 

She had likely recovered, — at least kept her name 

Above any sort of suspicion or blame. 

But no. She resisted in just such a way 

That he thought in the end he would carry the day, 

Then advanced to the most risky point she could find, 

Where peace was ahead and perdition behind. 

Then weakened and turned, in a pitiful plight, 

Was misjudged, dishonored, and dropped out of sight 

Like the fabled McGinty went down in the pool. 

Some may call her a martyr, — I call her a fool." 

"You prefer, then, the course of the maiden, you say, 

Whose elopement you just v/ere reporting today?" 



NORA. 

*'Why surely, — unless, (as you say you would do,) 

She had courage to stay, and to face the fight through." 

"There would be little 'fight' — since that term you would use. 

If a girl is of age she may wed as she choose. 

I would stick to my course if I'd ever begun. 

Marriage is honorable — why should I run?" 

Then she looked at her watch and exclaimed. "Do you know 

It is very near midnight? We really must go." 

The evening was cold, and along the dark way 

Their footsteps resounded, as homeward sped they. 

When they came to the steps Nora said not a word 

'Bout enjoying the evening, and there occurred 

No light conversation. She stood where the gleam 

Of a distant electric light made her face seem 

Lily-white and transparent. An instant she stood, 

Looking into the distance, in reflective mood. 

Then she held out her hand, saying as she did so, 

"Good night, Mr. Denton," — serenely and low. 

As John took her hand, and looked down in her face, 



51 



52 NORA. 

The deep solemn silence, the hour, and the place, 

Impelled him to pause in the uncertain light. 

He drew her up toward him and answered "Good-night." 

Then slowly, so slowly, he lowered his head 

(She made no resistance and no word she said), — 

And gently and revently kissed her. A trace 

Of tears from her eye-lashes moistened his face. 

And seeming to fear e'en a moment to stay, 

He whispered "My Darling!" and hurried away. 

Nora watched him until she could see him no more 

Then slowly and thoughtfully opened the door. 



CHAPTER V. 
This ^Nlrs. St. Clair was a woman who knew 
The proper thing always to say and to do. 
She was well educated. No place was so fair 
But she, with the finest, moved easily there. 
She had seen good society all of her life 
And had been catered to as a wealthy man's wife. 
Then, widowed, had slackened her fast social pace. 
While her limited means seemed a falling from grace. 
She knew 'bout life's Upper Crust, starchy and high. 
But nothing she knew of the rest of the pie. 
She looked on plain garments with shudder and doubt, 
And thought the heart like them. She hadn't found out 
That some of the best folks God ever gave life 
Wear rags, use bad grammar, and eat with their knife. 



54 



NORA. 



She never had known it were best to have lacked 

In manners than soul, and yet such is the fact. 

If we cannot know manners and honesty too, 

Then to cultivate truth is the first thing to do. 

If blue-jeans and broadcloth don't fit us the same 

Then jeans is the one for foundation of fame. 

More men have been great who began at the plow 

Than who learned, in their boyhood, the dancing-school bow. 

These truths are but axioms, simple and bare, 

And yet they were unknown to Mrs. St. Clair. 

Tis a wonder how little a woman can know 

And still be a star in Society's show. 

On the morning which followed her theatre fete 
Nora came down to breakfast a little bit late. 
Her mother asked questions in usual way, 
But she was demure and had little to say 
Except that the opera really was good. 
She didn't appear in a talkative mood. 



NORA. 

The days and the weeks hurried onw3-rd again, 

As so often they do with the children of men, 

With nothing to measure their speed as they fly 

And little, if aught, to remember them by. 

Anon came in Jim Clifford, pretentious in style, 

And Nora went out with him once in awhile. 

He rather amused her, was harmless as well, 

And he helped her in harmony better to dwell 

With her mother. John Denton came frequently, too, 

Though the mother regarded with questioning view 

This solemn young man whom the girl would defend 

In an indirect manner as Jim Clifford's friend. 

And at once change the subject. The mother had grown 

To wonder why each always came there alone 

If they were such friends. She attempted one day 

To question Jim Clifford, but all he would say 

Was that John was a "very good fellah, ye know." 

(He had learned from the party he'd better go slow.) 

As to Nora, when questioned about the two men 



55 



56 NORA. 

She'd say nothing of John, bi;t praise Clifford again, 

Till, suspicious, but baffled, poor Mrs. St. Clair 

Was sorely distressed for her daughter's welfare. 

When Nora and John were tor;ether alone 

They were cordial and candid as if each had known 

The other a lifetime. The hours always flew 

When they were together, and neither one knew 

Where the swift moments went to, or scarce what was said. 

They were all to each other, and all else was dead. 

Yet only at times like that theatre-night 

When the silence, the hour, and the flickering light 

Made reverent and holy the m.oment of bliss 

Did he offer to steal from the fair lips a kiss. 

Quite oft, through the drag of the winter's dull gloom 

John wandered up into the colonel's rich room, 

And many and many a long winter night 

The two spent together with fire burning bright, 

Disscussing at leisure, o'er pipe or cigar 

In bachelor fashion, events near and far. 



NORA. 

The colonel was witty, and usually gay, 

With always a plenty of bright things to say. 

He told of war incidents, — life in the west, 

Wild tales of adventure, by Indians pressed, 

And only grew grave when the argument turned 

Upon some fellow's home. Then the sturdy cheeks burned 

W'ith a heavier color. He sometimes would say 

"There's no question, Johnny, the only true way 

That a man can obtain satisfaction with life 

Is to give his devotion to home and to wife." 

The colonel knew something of Denton's affair 

With Nora, and also was fully aware 

That her mother opposed him, and once in awhile, 

John saw 'round his mouth a peculiar smile 

When Mrs., St. Clair was referred to. 'Twas queer. 

John sometimes imagined it looked like a sneer, 

Yet the colonel was gracious and very polite 

To the lady — in fact he was frequently quite 

Attentive. And more than once had it occurred 



57 



58 • NORA. 

That John to the colonel had let drop a word 

He was going to Nora's — and when he'd arrive 

The colonel and Madam had gone for a drive, 

The curtains were lowered, the gas dimly shone. 

And Nora demurely received him alone. 

At ten o'clock John always asked for his hat, 

The colonel was always out later than that. 

And when from his carriage the madam he led 

John was gone, the house dark, and Miss Nora in bed. 

Anon John would laugh at the colonel and say 

It was better to wed at this rather late day 

Than never. The colonel was pleasant and bland, 

But something there was John could not understand 

About the transaction. He plainly could see 

That the colonel's good cash the attraction must be 

For Mrs. St. Clair, but the colonel himself. 

Was surely too sharp to be caught for his pelf. 

But what the good colonel was trying to do 

Was the part of the business John couldn't see through. 



NORA. 59 

While Mrs. St. Clair with suspicion looked on 

The slight chance acquaintance of Nora and John, 

She really as yet had no sort of a whim 

There was any real risk of her caring for him. 

So the weeks and the months flew along till, at last, 

Spring came, green and fragrant — the winter was past. 

Clifford, calling one night, did not find Nora there 

And so left a message with Mrs. St. Clair 

Requesting that Nora her presence would lend. 

And would vouchsafe the honor with him to attend 

A May-party hop at the college. These balls 

Often shook up the dust of the solemn old halls. 

The state could teach farming and that sort of thing, 

But the gay youths of Lansing could make the house ring 

With occasional dances. When Nora was told 

About Jim's invitation she seemed rather cold 

In regard to the subject, but said pretty soon 

She believed she'd accept, — and the same afternoon 



6o NORA. 

So advised Mr. Clifford. Of course the affair 

Met the hearty approval of Mrs. St. Clair, 

Who planned Nora's costume with infinite care, 

And was thoroughly happy that things had transpired 

Exactly, in detail, as she had desired. 

The May-day's bright sunlight o'er Lansing was shed, 

But Nora was ill, and confined to her bed. 

She had had chills and fever the whole night before. 

And, instead of the party, was promsied some more. 

Word was sent to Jim Clifford that Nora was ill, 

And her evening's engagement unable to fill. 

All of this in the morning. Along toward night 

The lady was feeling a little more bright 

And, in tea-gown -presenting a mDst charming sight. 

Came down stairs to supper. She looked rather pale 

But all the more beautiful. Naught could prevail 

To make her look otherwise, as, after tea. 

On the sitting-room sofa inactive sat she 



NORA. . 6i 

Looking out of the window. The small cosy room 

Was just growing dusky in twilight's soft gloom 

When a pair of black horses drove up to the door, 

And the colonel came in. He had not known before 

That Nora was ailing, and his errand there 

Was to pay his addresses to Mrs. St. Clair 

And invite her to go for a drive. She declined. 

But Nora announced if she so had a mind 

She might as well go. She felt better, she said, 

And within a few moments was going to bed. 

So the madam smiled sweetly and said that, of course 

If her help was not needed, that altered, perforce, 

The question, — then added "And surely you know 

If I'm duty-free. Colonel, I'd be charmed to go 

For a drive, upon any occasion, with you, — 

You know that I would, — do you not?" (Yes, he knew 

A number of .things that he saw in the air, 

Which he wasn't explaining to Mrs. St. Clair.) 

With his usual calmness he did the polite. 



62 NORA. 

They entered the carriage and drove out of sight. 

Nora truly was ill. She had really designed 

To go to the ball, and regretted to find 

That her sickness prevented. She rose from her bed 

Because she felt better, — just as she had said. 

She had played no deceit, and her conscience was clear. 

To the time Colonel came she was wholly sincere. 

She knew that her mother desired to go, 

And was only polite in arranging it so. 

In that she was honest. But whether she drew 

Any sort of conclusion, (or put two and two 

Together to judge what perhaps might occur 

When the colonel had gone), we can only infer. 

Or whether the fact that the colonel came there 

May have had aught to do with her combing her hair, 

Or changing her mind about going to bed 

And fixing two luncheons and napkins instead, — 

And whether such acts would some trickery show, 



NORA - 63 

You must judge, gentle reader, — I'm sure I don't know. 
But be that as it may, at about eight o'clock 
There sounded a step, and there came a firm knock, 
And Denton was there. Nora opened the door 
And surveyed her tall guest, from his hat to the floor. 
Her cheeks were all scarlet, her eyes flashing bright. 
"John Denton," said she, "why did you come tonight?" 
"Why not?" returned John, with amazement, and slow. 
"If you don't want to see me I guess I will go." 
"No, no!" exclaimed Nora, "you don't understand. 
Come here and I'll tell you." She held out her hand 
And took Denton's hat, then continued. "You see 
This call will make serious trouble for me. 
I had promised to go to the party with Jim, 
And then I was sick and I sent word to him 
That I wouldn't be able to go. Then tonight 
Mamma wouldn't go driving, till I said she might 
Just as well if she wished. I was better, I said, 
And just in a moment was going to bed. 



64 NORA. 

So she's gone, and now you've come, and if she should know, 
She w^ould say that I planned it and — " 

''I'd better go," 
Interrupting the lady John quietly said. 
"You're excited and ill, and had best go to bed," 
He came closer to her the while he said that, 
And gently he took from her fingers his hat, 
Then wished her good "dreams and was starting to go, 
But Nora clung to him, exclaiming "No, No! 
You are angry, and you shall not leave me that way. 
You should not have come here, but now }'ou must stay." 
Of course he remained. It was half after ten 
Before either consulted a time-piece again. 
Then the shortest adieux were quite hastily said, 
John vanished, and Nora got ready for bed. 

The colonel was jolly, but Mrs. St. Clair 
Was a little concerned about Nora's welfare. 
And by ten o'clock very uneasy had grown, 



NORA. . 65 

Said she shouldn't have left Nora ill, and alone, 

And must really insist on returning. The night 

Had been unauspicious. Things hadn't worked right. 

Colonel Warren was nervous and uneasy, quite, 

As he looked at his watch when they passed a street light. 

Ten-thirty. . The horses seemed trotting a race. 

He steadied them down to a quieter pace. 

Then, turning a corner, the house was in sight. 

There shone from the sitting-room window a light, 

And 'round the next corner there vanished from view 

A form Colonel noticed, and thought that he knew. 

"Do look. Colonel Warren," said Mrs. St. Clair, 

**Nora has a bright light in the sitting-room there! 

I fear she is ill. Can you go in with me?* 

Will the horses stand tied till we have time to see 

If there's anything needed? Oh, dear! I don't know 

Why ever I happened to leave the child so." 

They entered the house. Nora sat by the fire, 

As pretty and cosy as heart could desire, 



66 NORA. 

And calmly proceeded, forthwith, to retire. 
The colonel sat down for a moment or two, 
Then politely, as ever, he made his adieu. 

As Mrs. St. Clair fixed the fire in the grate 

She was passively conscious the hour had grown late. 

She was also, with some indistinctness, aware 

That 'twas odd if Miss Nora had been sitting there 

With her pretty hands folded, the whole evening through, 

Alone, partly ill, and with nothing to do. 

But as she sat down and unfastened her hair 

It occured to this provident Mrs. St. Clair 

That the colonel was really more pleasant, by far. 

Than the owners of money most generally are. 

And that if she could catch the snug fortune he had 

In the way of incumbrance he wouldn't be bad. 

Oh, to be in command of a mansion once more, 

With carriages, dresses, and diamonds galore! 

She believed with skilled tactics she might capture him. 



NORA. 67 

Then if the fair Nora would just marry Jim 

She'd be wholly contented. What unlucky chance 

Should have made Nora ill, to stay home from the dance? 

By the way — about Nora — she'd almost forgot 

That the o;irl had been up and had frightened her. What 

Could possess a sick maiden whose senses were right 

To be sitting alone there till that hour of night? 

"Girls sometimes sit up with young men, "murmured she, 

"But seldom Oh Gracious! can that fellow be 

In the habit of coming here?" Instantly then 
She saw she'd been hoodwinked again and again. 
Nora's little deceits all at once she saw through, 
And imagined more tricks than the girl ever knew. 
Long, long did she ponder, in quandary deep, 
And many hours passed ere she thought about sleep. 
But a practical woman was Mrs. St. Clair, 
And her course was decided upon, then and there. 
Chagrined, but determined, her eyes flashing fire. 
She locked up the house and prepared to retire. 



CHAPTER VI. 
To OLir childhood's young yision — our first mental sight, 
Our parents are all that is noble and right. 
Their mission to keep us from going astray, 
And none, to our notion, as perfect as they. 
Oh happy the child who grows older to find 
That the sacred home idol he had in his mind 
Can lead him on life's early battle fields, too, 
And set the example for all he should do. 
But if, growing older, perchance we should find 
That our parents, the same as all frail humankind. 
Have virtues and failings, — do both right and wrong, — 
In some ways are weak and in others are strong. 
Let us copy their virtues, — seek out every one, — 
And learn by their errors what dangers to shun. 



NORA. - 69 

And if, in the total, at life's closing day, 

We shall have lived better and wiser than they. 

All that they have accomplished than this shall be less 

To prove that their living has been a success. 

**My daughter, why will you deceive me this way?" 
Said Mrs. St. Clair as at breakfast sat they. 
"Have I not always been a good mother to you, 
And helped you in all that a mother could do? 
Have I ever been harsh to you, Nora my child, 
That you turn, in this way, to the reckless and wild? 
Oh dear! That I ever should come to the day 
When my daughter deceives me in this wicked way!" 
Her sentence here faltered, the tears upward crept. 
And she buried her face in her kerchief, and wept. 
Nora all these reproaches submissively heard. 
Respectfully listened, and said not a word. 
The mother soon paused in her sobbing, and then. 
In grief-laden accents continued again. 



70 NORA. 

"Such disgraceful proceedings! I'd never have thought 
That the daughter I've reared and so carefully taught 
Would hoodwink her mother by such a base plan, 
Holding carnival here with a worthless young man." 
Nora's brilliant eyes flashed at this insult to John 
But she made no remark and the Madam went on. 
"As hard as I've struggled," she sobbed in her tears, 
"As hard as I've labored for these twenty years 
To rear you, and teach you, and guide you along 
To a perfect, true womanhood, noble and strong; 
And to fix you a marriage as hard as I've tried 
With a gentleman who has the means to provide 
"For your every comfort — to humor each whim. 
And now— Oh to think— you not only snub him, 
But you needs must deceive me by underhand play. 
In such an intriguing, dishonorable way! 
Oh! I cannot believe 'tis my daughter!" Here, then, 
She went into hysterics of weeping, again. 
As Nora had listened she seemed stricken dumb, 



NORA. 

To her cheeks had the hot color gradually come, 

While her brilliant eyes flashed with a dangerous light. 

As her mother ceased speaking, she turned deathly white. 

And, silent and calm, the girl rose from her chair 

And stood like a statue of pale marble there 

Till the Madam ceased weeping and lifted her head. 

And with voice cold and ringing, then "Mother" she said, 

**Have you still enough reason remaining to see 

When you speak of dishonor you're talking to me? 

It is you are the guilt}" one, — who, as you say. 

Have reared me with care, but would sell me away; — 

Would peddle my charms, — you to vend me would try 

At auction, to whom has most money to buy! 

I'm a woman, full grown, and I know very well 

That rich gentlemen purchase, and fair women sell, 

And the only partition 'twixt honor and shame 

Is the form of a wedding — 'tis only in name. 

And a wedding for money, without honest love 

Is recorded by angels — is v/ritten above 



71 



72 NORA. 

In the same blackened volume, — exactly the same 

As a deed of dishonor, committed in shame. 

You reproach me in every way that you can 

For an evening spent with an honest young man, 

While to marry a fellow who scarcely is bright, 

For money, would seem to you perfectly right. 

I say I've done nothing deserving of blame. 

And I won't take your slurs about intrigue and shame. 

Ane more; — had I loved Mr. Denton, and been 

Impelled by that love to commission of sin, 

I still, in my shame, would a shining light be 

Compared with the creature you'd make out of me. 

Neither way would a woman from blame be exempt, 

But the one deserves pity, — the other, contempt." 

Then she went to her chamber, where no one was nigh, 

And forthwith enjoyed a good long cry. 

Sadly, in wonderment, Mrs. St. Clair, 

Gazed at the door with a blank, "puzzled stare. 



NORA - 73 

"So much like her father, poor man/' murmured she, 

"My daughter gets no such a temper from me. 

I would never have dreamed that she had such a vein 

Of virulance in her — 'tis hard to explain. 

I have seen her in many a petulant spat, 

But I never have heard such a tirade as that. 

And is this the reward that a parent secures 

Who in rearing a child every hardship endures? 

Must all of this labor and struggle be lost? 

Must a pauper now capture a prize of such cost? 

No! never! If patience won't guide her aright . 

I must lead her by force into reasonable light." 

So saying, she rose, for the breakfast was through. 

And turned to the housework which she had to do. 

The colonel sat smoking. A knock at the door. 
And Denton there entered, as often before. 
"Well Johnny," said colonel, when greetings were past, 
"You hadn't much time to spare, night before last. 



74 NORA. 

''Well, no," replied Denton, with curious grin, 

'Twas the queerest position I ever was in. 

The facts that led up to the muddle, you see, 

Were all new and strange information to me, 

And it all came so sudden that I couldn't say 

Whether twas better to go or to stay. 

And I then was too much interested to know, 

After staying awhile, when 'twas better to go. 

But really. Colonel, I want to demand 

Some light upon one point I don't understand. 

What part are you taking in my love affair? 

Are you helping me, or have you interests there? 

I do not mistrust you, and yet I'm in doubt. 

There is so much about it I can't figure out." 

The colonel was serious. "Johnny," said he, 

*'This affair is of total indifference to me 

Except in your interest. I met you there, 

I have spent a few evenings with Mrs. St. Clair, 

But I soon became weary, because I could see 



^ NORA. . 75 

That the money was all that she cared about me. 

Then by natural process of lo^^ic I knew 

She was sure to make trouble for Nora and you 

As soon as she found what your errand was there, 

(For I knew well enough that you loved Miss St. Clair), 

I decided to help you. From all I could see 

There was only one method left open to me 

And that with her greedy designing to play, 

And in this manner draw her attention away 

From what you were doing. I thought that, perchance. 

While I was diverting the old lady's glance 

You might get a hold on the young lady's heart 

So the crash, when it came, couldn't tear you apart. 

I didn't know\ Johnny, but maybe one girl 

Might be true to her lover, — could go through the whirl 

Of a family cyclone, and, standing the shock. 

Be as true as cold steel, and as firm as a rock. 

I thought perhaps, Johnny, there might be one so,. 

But I didn't know, Johnny, I didn't know." 



76 NORA. 

He threw his cigar in the grate and arose, 

Shook the white ashes off, which had dropped on his clothes. 

And went pacing the floor with a quick, nervous vim, 

While Denton sat, curiously gazing at him, 

Colonel Warren was handsome, — was heavy and tall, 

Stood straight as an arrow, yet graceful, withal. 

He had broad and square shoulders, his brow high and fair, 

Surmounted with plenty of curly gray hair. 

His nose was too broad for the Grecian design. 

Yet was even and straight, and of perfect outline. 

His cheeks were not puffy, and yet were not thin. 

Decision was marked in each curve of his chin. 

His teeth were remarkably even and white. 

And a heavy gray moustache half hid them from sight. 

His appearance was striking as, pacing the floor, 

A troubled and thoughtful expression he wore. 

"Now Johnny," said he, "I have done all I can 

In the line I have stated. They've finished that plan, 

The night before last has completed that play, 



NORA. ■ ']'] 

For the cat's out the bag, and the devil to pay. 

Now all that remains is for you to declare 

Your love in a plain manner, simple and square. 

And the rest lies with her, — to decide the affair. 

If she loves you. and if she is true to her love 

You the envy may be of the angles above, 

If her heart is not yours then the wound will soon heal, 

And a short time will quiet the pain you will feel. 

If falsehood and coquetry in her you find, 

Your anger will be a relief to your mind. 

But, Johnny, if still in your sweetheart you see 

The kind, loving angel you thought her to be. 

If she owns that she loves you, and still will not come, 

If objecting relations yet keep her lips dumb. 

If her heart is still yours and yet wilts in the strife, 

Then be careful, my friend, or she'll ruin your life. 

And Johnny, my boy, if such grief should occur 

Don't waste your whole life time in thinking of her, 

Still waiting, and watching, and cherishing yet 



78 NORA. 

A lingering hope with your bitter regret; 

Still wondering and studying whether, perhaps, 

When her mother shall die, or when years shall elapse 

She then may reward you. I know what I tell, 

Oh, shun that course, Johnny, — it's torment and hell. 

By no common sense is that theory backed. 

It has no foundation in truth or in fact. 

It is only the product of great mental pain, 

The weak, crippled hope of a feverish brain. 

My boy " 

"Pardon, Colonel, I don't understand 
What circumstan,ce this earnest plea should demand. 
My fair lady loves me — for so she has said. 
No doubt of her faithfulness enters my head. 
I know she is true. Only night before last, 
When some unpleasant thought had my face overcast, 
She, crossing the room, (the remembrance is bliss,) 
Said 'Dear, I do love you' and gave me a kiss. 
Now tell me, my friend, (Denton's face was a-glow,) 



NORA. ■ 

For a man of your age must have had chance to know,- 

Do you think that a fair maiden ever could live 

Who of her own will would such rare present give, 

Thus confessing the love you had asked for, and then 

Reverse her position and snub you again?" 

With wide-open eyes. Colonel lifted his head. 

"Well Johnny, my innocent infant,", he said, 

"It happens that that was the very sam^ act, 

And the very same words, as a matter of fact. 

Which an angel in form of a maid did bestow 

Upon me one bright night twenty-eight years ago; 

And it wasn't a week till she cut me as cold 

As a mid-winter icicle, — quietly told 

Me I had many traits she admired, but she 

Believed she had no further interest in me." 

"A thorough-bred liar," said John, "and a shrew." 

"No Sir!" Colonel said, "she was honest and true 

To her simple convictions. The same course I've seen 

A hundred times since — the girl was just green. 



79 



8o NORA. 

They told her some rubbish and lies to deceive, 

And she hadn't the sense to know whom to believe. 

I knew that she loved me. I couldn't forget. 

I kept waiting and hoping, and I love her yet. 

And because she was good, and too weak for the strife 

Of malicious influence, she spoiled my whole life. 

Now Johnny, for fear that this may be the way 

With Nora, pray listen to what I would say. 

I have made a mistake, and if I were, tonight, 

Some thirty years younger, with my present light 

Of thought and experience, with such a grief, 

I would seek in a different way for relief. 

I would make up my mind, be she ever so fine 

I had no use for her if she wouldn't be mine. 

I would not wed in haste, but I'd toil with a will 

A higher degree in my life's work to fill. 

And, rising, myself, — being more of a man 

I'd command the respect that success always can, 

And search for a woman who'd win my best love 



NORA. 8i 

By being in every way, far above 

My wabble-kneed sweetheart as I, among men, 

Stood shoulders above what I used to be then. 

I would be a success, and she'd look pretty high 

If she married a man who was better than I. 

My life should be happy, my wife my queen be. 

And bright, happy children should climb on my knee. 

And she who had faltered in honest love's track 

Could live or could die. I would never look back. 

I am getting too old now, thus wisely to do, 

But Johnny, this course I would urge upon you 

With all of my energy. Don't waste your life 

For a girl who is good, but who won't be your wife, 

Go and get Nora's answer, and, having done so, 

Let it settle the question, at yes or at no." 

John was silent a moment, then said 

"I don't know 
But that, with conditions, what you say is so. 
Still there lies just this difference between me and you. 



82 NORA. 

That your lady wabbled, and my girl is true." 
"I hope she is, Johnny, and so will come out, 
But don't be too certain, — there's always a doubt. 
And supposing she isn't, though none of my biz, — " 
"There's no 'sposing she isn't. — I tell you she is." 
Both were silent some minutes, then John 

''Colonel, say, 
I wish you would tell me about it some day — 
This old love of yours — I would much like to know 
What makes you distrust all of womankind so. 
This world is a good one — is happy and bright. 
If it wasn't so late you could tell me to-night." 
**I will tell you, Johnny, the next time you come 
Though for twenty-eight years have my lips remained dumb 
Upon that sacred subject. I'll tell you the whole 
Of the facts which have secretly shrivelled my soul 
Till I'm partially crazy: and, Johnny, I'd do 
Anything to keep danger of like fate from you." 
Said John "I believe it, 'tis like you, Sir, quite." 
Then shaking hands warmly, they both said "Good ni-ght.'* 



CHAPTER VII. 
When you make up your mind to a girl to propose 
You never can figure, and God only knows 
What that woman will say, or that woman will do, 
Or what is then likely to happen to you. 

John called upon Nora. No person can say 
If he knew that her mother had just gone away, 
All night at the bed of a sick friend to stay, 
But such luck had fallen to Denton's good lot. 
Whether that gentleman knew it or not. 
He called upcn Nora, and found her at home. 
As pretty as ever, well dressed, and alone. 
Denton noticed as soon as she opened the door 
That her manner was different than ever before. 



84 NORA. 

Like a bud, in a day she had seemed to unfurl, 

Showing more of the woman and less of the girl. 

She was cordial as ever, but somewhat less gay. 

And her welcome was said in a womanly way. 

A little more quiet her fair hand she gave, 

A little more gentle, a little more grave. 

Her eyes, always handsome, seemed shining, that night, 

With the deep, holy glitter of heaven's own light. 

Her cheeks, always fair, had the delicate hue 

Of a fine china vase, with red wine shining through.. 

Not as artists may fancy are angels above. 

But as earth-angels are, when inspired by Love. 

The windows were open, — no lamps had been lit. 

There was gathering twilight, for lovers most fit. 

Nora stood looking out of the window. John placed 

His hand very gently around the girl's waist. 

"I have made you a great deal of trouble." He said. 

She answered half absently, turning her head, — 

"You have made me no trouble. I'm such a wild elf 



NORA. 85 

I am always in trouble. I — make — it — myself." 

The young heart was fuller than Denton could know, 

And the first touch of tenderness made the tears flow. 

Denton walked 'cross the room, and with eyes wet and dim 

Nora stood by the window, still looking at him. 

"I had hoped," began John, "that our courtship might last 

Until every doubt should have been overcast 

With absolute certainty — till you could find, 

By thought and at leisure, the state of your mind 

In regard to my suit. That, it seems, cannot be. 

So, whatever the outcome, there's nothing for me 

But to make known my love. Nora, I do not know 

What a lover should say, or what fine words should flow." 

(Here he went to the window near where Nora stood) 

But I love you as dearly as ever I could. 

My salery is small, but I think it will do, 

By managing closely, to take care of two. 

Can you bear with me, Nora, the struggle of life? 



86 NORA- 

Do you think you can love me? Will you be my wife?" 

She laid on his shoulder her poor weary head, 

"Are you sure that }'0u want me?" was all that she said. 

The lamps had been lighted. John still lingered there. 

Nora quietly sat on the arm of his chair. 

She said "John, I do love you, yet surely you see 

How hard is a step like the present for me. 

My mother to me has been loving and kind 

As anyone's mother }^ou ever could find. 

From the first recollection that dawns upon me, 

From the time that she coddled me up on her knee, 

Her strongest ambition, her principal care 

Was alwavs for me and mv hierhest welfare 

In the light that she saw it. I cannot forget 

She has lived but for me, and is doing so yet. 

And even in this, her objection to you, 

The best for me still she is trying to do. 

No, I'd not expect you, dear, to see it that way, 

And I don't agree w^ith her,- — but, — as I say, 



NORA, 

'Tis a serious matter for any young maid 
Her own mother's love for another's to trade. 
She does not understand me. She'd have me all art, 
And fashion, and money, and kill my poor heart. 
She would govern and dictate my every breath 
While my soul, for affection, is starving to death." 
John kissed from her eye-lids a gathering tear 
And briefly inquired ''Well, what then, my dear?" 
Then she, with mock dignity, — "What will I do? 
Mr. Denton, I think. Sir, that I'll marry you. 
But, John, I do so dread the struggle and strife 
And the shock to poor Mamma, — 'twill sadden her life. 
'And I do feel so ^uiltv to so thwart her will 
It seems so ungrateful to Mamma; — and still — " 
(She paused, and appeared in a quand'ry to be.) 
"I have an idea, John, — listen to me: — 
My twenty-first birthday will come pretty soon, 
It is only a fortnight — the eighteenth of June. 
You will give me till that day, my lover, — won't you, 



^1 



gg NORA. 

For my final decision on what I will do? 

You shall call on that evening and I'll tell you then, • 

And we never will doubt on that question again. 

Sometimes meditation quick impulse will cure 

And don't you see, dearest, I want to be sure." 

"Yes Nora," said John, "manage just as you choose, 

Your request's within reason — I cannot refuse. 

Yet I think from the love-light that shines in your eyes 

There is little room left for a bitter surprise 

At the end of a fortnight." Said she 

"I confess 
That the end of my study will likely be yes. 
For when reason can sanction what impulse would say, 
When judgement can follow where love leads the way, 
It would not seem an error to hark to their voice 
By entrusting my life to the man of my choice." 
The rest of the evening in talking was spent, 
And 'twas after eleven before Denton went. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

If the young man could know what the older man knows 

About life's hidden shadows, and failures, and woes; 

Or the old man, possessing this knowledge, could then 

Have the energy left to start over again. 

This world would be happier. Plain 'tis to see 

This desirable state of things never will be 

On this side of Jordon. The young heart is light,, 

Reefs hide 'neath the waters; none show up in sight. 

Up goes the new canvass aloft to the gale. 

On plunges each vessel, to flourish or fail. 

Some sink 'neath the billows. Some weaken and float 

Till the Harbor of Nothingness catches their boat. 

And of those who go through to the Cove of Success 

There are some have lost more, there are some have lost less 



90 NORA 

Of their valuable outfit. Some treasures there be 

Which are left far behind to the winds and the sea. 

Maybe Honesty goes to the sea-birds some day. 

Maybe Virtue is feeble and that blows awa}\ 

Likely Happiness, fastened by some slender thread, 

To the home of the airy sea-fairies has fled.. 

Then we say in old age, 'T am just learning how. 

Let me try Life again. I can do better now." 

But Death lays his hand on the throttles of men, 

And "No," says the angel, "you can't try again." 

I 
So I think there's a chance in some heavenly sphere 

To profit by lessons that cost us so dear 

In the merciless fight of our pilgrimage here. 

,,Well, Johnny," said Colonel, one evening when 
They sat in his sumptuous parlor again, 
"I am waiting to hear how you made it. Are you 
As sure as you were that your lady is true?" 
"Yes, perfectly. Colonel. It seems to me queer 
That you ask it that way, with the half of a sneer." 



NORA. 

<'Did I sneer at her Johnny? Excuse me, my friend. 

No sneer at vour lady-love did I intend, 

But you're always so sanguine, — so careless and free, — • 

You compel me to wonder if you are to be 

A victim to misplaced affection, — like me." 

John laughed. '*No, my friend, — I am sorry for you. 

But as to my Nora, I know she is true. 

The decision's reserved for a week or two yet 

But that makes no difference. I will not fret, 

For I know my fair lady and so, — ^don't you see, 

There is nothing but happiness waiting for me." 

The colonel was thoughtful, then, raising his head, 

'*Well Johnny, I hope 'twill turn out so," he said. 

"Of course it will, Colonel, but tell me what strife 

Has made you a cynic and saddened your life. 

You remember you promised to tell me." The light 

Fell across Colonel's handsome face, fully and bright. 

Twas a strong face, and kindly. No ill-temper shown 

In the good-natured smile that was purely his own. 



91 



92 



NORA. 



*Am I cynical, Johnny? I don't mean to be; — 

IVell, I loved and I lost: — the old story, you see. 

We were stationed at Louisville. Fighting was through. 

We were just waiting there — we had nothing to do, 

A.nd some of the people, o'er-looking the muss 

Of the great, bloody war, made it pleasant for us. 

We gave **hops" at the barracks. The best people came. 

At our parties a "Yank" and a "Reb" were the same, 

I was "Major" at that time. Brass buttons, you see, 

Were at premium then, so the ladies liked me. 

I was quite a fair dancer, my friends used to say — 

And then, shoulder-straps went a mighty long way 

In feminine favor. Among all the rest 

There was one slender maiden whom I loved the best. 

She and her father were living alone. 

Her father was "Secesh" clear to the backbone. 

And he swore that the girl by his own hand should die 

If she ever would marry a "Yank" such as I. 

He forbade her to come to our "hops" and, perforce, 



NORA. 93 

Forbade me the house, as a matter of course. 

She had told me she loved me, and though I don't know, 

I presume he had asked her and she'd told him so, 

And hence had the trouble arisen. He kept 

Such vigil I thought that the man never slept. 

But one time I beat him. I went there one night 

When never so much as a star shed its light 

O'er the Stygian landscape. To Prospect had sped 

A strong mounted guard, by my best captain led. 

To wake up the minister, and to be there 

In case the old Reb., learning of the affair. 

Should persue and make trouble. A servant took word 

To the lady. The latch of the front door I heard 

As it stealthily opened. My horses were there. 

I put her on one — we had no time to spare — 

And just as I turned, to my saddle to vault, 

A window was raised and her father called "HALT!" 

I mounted. We started. But quick as a flash. 

Even with the first thrill of the horses' mad dash 



94 NORA. 

I knew the girl weakened. Her courage oozed out. 

I could just feel the presence of weakness and doubt 

In the frail little creature so close by my side. 

And for almost an hour, in that 'leven mile ride 

I reasoned, I argued, I begged and I pled; 

But all she would say was she wished she were dead. 

As we rode into Prospect, we slackened our pace. 

A guard came to meet us and showed us the place. 

In the minister's parlor she sank in a chair. 

My own trusty soldiers and officers there 

Were laughing and jubilant at my success. 

Their joy for my happiness hardly was less 

Than my own should have been. As the minutes flew past, 

My brain was at work — and I had to think fast. 

She seemed undecided — her lips remained dumb. 

It wouldn't be long till her father would come 

With a band of his friends, — then the bullets would fly. 

I knelt down beside her. "My darling," said I, 

Indecision means bloodshed. Say yes, or say no. 



NORA. 95 



If you will, let us hurry, — if not, I will go." 

With eyes overflowing she looked up at me. 

"I love you, but can't leave my father," said she. 

I'm afraid that I swore some, — (I have in my life.) 

Then I quietly said to the minister's wife 

That the lady was ill. I went out in the street 

And could hear the far clatter of iron-shod feet. 

My bugler called Mount. It was partially light. 

Morn was rapidly melting the blackness of night. 

In the clear sky were streaks of a dull, leaden hue, 

As if Heaven were blending the Gray and the Blue. 

Then a squad of Reb. cavalry dashed into view. 

My force was larger. They halted, a few 

Rods away, as if questioning what they should do. 

I sent a white flag, and expressed a desire 

To avoid an engagement, — said we would retire. 

They agreed, and we passed them, and leisurely then 

We returned to our Louisville barracks again. 

Of that night's expedition, no one of us spoke, 



96 . NORA. 

And before the gray dawn of another day broke 

I was sent to Dakota. (The Indians there 

Were in need of a little good soldierly care.) 

And that was the end of my romance." The smoke 

Had left his forgotten cigar as he spoke, 

And the curling wreaths faded in air, one by one. 

As his love's early hopes of a bright home had done. 

After waiting some moments, said Denton "What then? 

Did you ever, in after years, see her again?" 

Colonel leisurely lighted another cigar. 

And then with eyes absently gazing afar, 

Said "Yes, I did once. 'Twas in seventy-three. 

I was given a furlough, and happened to be 

For a few days at Mackinac. 'Twas in July, 

The heat up at Mackinac never is high. 

The ugly old Reb. and his daughter were there 

For a fortnight of rest and a breath of fresh air. 

I met her, one evening, by chance, on the beach. 

The meeting was equally startling to each. 



NORA. 97 

She looked little older than eight years before. 

She was slender and beautiful, just as of yore. 

'Miss Andrews, I think.' remarked I, with a bow, 

'Or has that name changed to another, ere now?' 

*No Major,' she said, 'it is Miss Andrews yet. 

Did you think me a woman to so soon forget?' 

'Well then,' I rejoined, 'you would possibly go 

For a walk, as of old, for a half hour or so.' 

(I had on my uniform) 'Ah, murmured she. 

'You have risen in rank since the time }'0u knew me.' 

'Colonel now,' I replied, 'But inform me,' said I, 

Have you altered }'our mind in the eight }^ears gone by? 

Do you look at our romance in just the same light? 

Shall we take up our love where we left it that night? 

She looked in my face with a happ)" surprise. 

The tears came again to her glorious eyes. 

'Why Colonel. I always have loved you,' said she, 

'And I now have some hope that ni}- father may be 

Sufficientlv softened to let us be wed. 



98 NORA. 

Last night you passed by and he watched you and said 

You reminded him some of the impudent Yank 

Who carried me off, in that Louisville prank. 

He spoke of the runaway, then he said — well, 

Perhaps he was foolish — we never could tell. 

Go and talk with him, Colonel, — perhaps he'll relent, 

And the rest of our lives may be happily spent.' 

I stared at the woman. 'J^^^ Andrews,' I said, 

*It was never your father I wanted to wed. 

It was you that I loved in the old days of yore. 

It is you I'm addressing this evening once more. 

This question deals only with me and with you. 

With your father, at present, I've nothing to do. 

When I courted you first, in our love's early day, 

He issued his orders. You sent me away. 

You chose to obey his unreasoning whim. 

Our two lives you darkened to gratify him. 

You thus chose between us. This evening, again. 

You re-state the verdict which you declared then. 



NORA 99 

You will cling to your father. Then, if it should be 

That his whim is favor'ble, you'll marry me. 

Then he's in command of my home,— don't you see? 

He sits by my hearthstone, a dark shadow dim. 

And if he and I quarrel, why you side with him. 

No, I never will do it! If I win your hand 

In our home you and I will forever command. 

He will always be welcomed with kindness, no doubt. 

But if he tries to dictate he'll have to get out. 

I'd be happy and proud, now, to make you my bride. 

He has nothing to do with it — you must decide.' 

She seemed dazed and puzzled. 'Why, how can I wed 

A man who will turn out my father?' she said. 

I began to grow angry. I tried to explain, 

But the labor expended was wholly in vain. 

The rampant old Reb. was her tyrant and prince. 

So I bade her good night and I've not seen her since." 

"And this is the burden of heart-wreck and strife 

Which has saddened you. Colonel, and darkened your life!" 



100 NORA. 

"Yes. There was one way to have brightened my fate, 

Which I did not discover until 'twas too late. 

I always liked women. I turned from the strife 

Of my bitter regret to a sensuous life. 

Not to low dissipation, but rather by way 

Of intrigues and liasons, — lived very gay. 

Attempting in pleasure to drown the regret 

Of a grief so intense that I could not forget. 

But passion is life's only fountain and source 

To make life again, and, in natural course, 

The springs that make up the great tide as a whole 

Come from every fiber of heart and of soul, — 

The sublime with the sensual so close a part 

That you can't reach the sense without touching the heart. 

And so with each mistress I soon grew to feel 

A true, honest interest for her future weal, 

And every intrigue wound up in a strife 

To point to the woman a more honest life; 

Till I found the best pleasure that woman could give 



NORA. loi 

Was to train up my conscience and teach me to live. 

I never drank heavily. Liquor, I found, 

Was the key-note to passion, and much if it drowned 

The soul which, when nat'ral, with lust interlocks. 

Constituting the difference 'tween man and an ox. 

I have left dissipation in all forms, because 

'Twouldn't jibe with my mental and physical laws. 

So I live here alone as you see me, my boy. 

And I have the surroundings that I can enjoy 

Which money can purchase. I'm sordid, you see. 

And it's no fun for young folks to visit with me. 

I have wondered sometimes why a kind loving God 

Should have placed so much passion in creatures of sod. 

Unappeased, passion hardens the finest, best part 

Of a man's social nature, and shrivels his heart, 

Makes_~him ugly and sordid, ill-natured and stern, 

So that bright, happy people away from him turn. 

Passion, starved and in prison, shuns all that is fair. 

Passion, wild, running rampant, spreads death everywhere. ; 



I02 NORA- 

But I don't try to solve it, and don't go about 

Blaming God for arrangements I can't figure out. 

But I've wondered how many of people 1 know 

Have a sacred lost love in their hearts, — if below 

The affable manner their friends know them by 

They've a bitter, deep sorrow, the same as have I: 

How many there are, if their secrets we knew. 

Who have done that most wise thing which I couldn't do.— 

How many whose hearts have been turned into stone 

Have escaped the discomforts of living .alone 

By a rfnarriage that reason and logic could tell 

Was fitting and proper, and that would be well. 

I have wondered how often the ones who've so wed 

May have longed for the kiss of the old love instead; 

And whether, at times when they're weary and blue. 

Their thoughts wander backward, the dreary years through. 

And review early hopes with a smile and a sigh. 

These ill-married people are worse off than I." 

John Denton was thoughtful, then "Colonel" he said, 



NORA. 

Don't you think that for any man never to wed. 

No matter by what cause, is still a mistake? 

Don't you think a new love reparation should make? 

Should a w^hole life be sacrificed, — ruined, forsooth, 

For a woman who saddened the heart in its youth?" 

"It is a mistake, Johnny, none can deny, 

And which no one can realize better than I. 

And if your present love meets the same bitter fate 

You must act on the lesson which I learned too late. 

If your fair lady Nora will not be your bride 

Do not turn to fast living, your sorrow to hide. 

Do not wed in a hurry some one you're above, 

Don't take lust for affection, or sadness for love. 

Nor yet do not wait till your life's closing day 

For the poor, weak affection that turned you away. 

It is not worth the waiting, or }^our thought to spend. 

Who is weak at the start will be weak to the end. 

There is only one course which is manly and strong. 

That's to set your teeth tighter and go right along. 



103 



104 NORA. 

Let your courage grow more and your sorrow grow less, 

As, year after year, you come nearer Success. 

Then, as women of culture grow gracious to you. 

Select from the thousands who're noble and true 

A wife who in every way is above 

The whole of the outfit you used to call 'love'. 

Get a woman of strength, both of body and mind, 

Who, when she says she loves you, you know where to find. 

The country is full of them, — all the land through,— 

These women of courage, — strong, noble and true. 

Select this course, Johnny, if bitter your fate. 

Don't spend your life weeping until it's too late. 

Thus a proud, happy king in this world you will be. 

And not a mere blot on the landscape, — like me." 

John Denton was silent a moment or two. 

Then "Colonel," he answered "your logic is true. 

It is certain as daylight and sound as can be. 

But your warning is needless, my dear sir, to me, 

For my Nora is constant and true, — don't you see?" 



NORA 105 



'"Well, I hope so, my boy, and I think she is, too, 
I am hoping for smooth sailing, Johnny, for you. 
But remember, the pinch hasn't come yet. I know 
That woman's a terror, and that she will go 
To any length, almost, to carry the day. 
Nor would Nora's own happiness stand in the way 
For a moment. I think that the girl will be true. 
In what she has led you to think she will do. 
But I don't feel as certain about it as you." 
Said Denton, "The battle will come out all right. 
But Colonel, 'tis late — I must bid you good-night." 
Colonel 'rose and accompanied him to the door, 
Saying "Johnny, be careful. I warn you once more. 
Pin not your hope too high, and trust not too strong. 
You'll have farther to fall if the battle goes wrong. 
God knows that I wish you success in the fight. 
May good luck and vict'ry be with you. Good night. 



CHAPTER IX. 
Go study the men who their conscience neglect, — 
The intellects ruined, the lives that are wrecked, — 
Look under the desperate dare-devil laugh 
With which, in their revels, their liquor they quaff, 
Look into their hearts, and find out, if you can. 
What makes a fiend out of a promising man. 
Go hunt up the reasons, where sin darkly rolls, 
Go search out the causes, deep down in their souls. 
How often you'll find the first downward step came 
From a false, fickle woman. Let her share the blame. 
Then hunt up the men who, unselfish and true, 
Have done with whole heart what their hands found to do, 
Who are living examples, devoted and strong, 
Of the power of the right and the failure of wrong. 



NORA. 

Look under the cool self-possession, and see 

What the bright beacon light of that man's heart may be, 

Go search through his life for the strong, gentle voice 

Which impels him to keep to the right as his choice. 

You will find that the pilot who counsels his ways 

Is a staunch, loving woman. To her be the praise. 

Notwithstanding the certainty John had expressed 
That his love-affair's outcome could be but the best. 
His private anxiety never had ceased. 
But, approaching the crisis, it greatly increased. 
He was outwardly tranquil, and he would have said 
That he never was calmer in heart and in head. 
Yet the day, drawing near, for deciding his fate 
Found his mind in a thoroughly turbulent state. 
As the finish drew near, of the trying two weeks 
The fire of excitement burned bright in his cheeks. 
He 'rose somewhat earlier, worked harder, too, 
Was nervously active, his labor hours through. 



107 



io8 NORA. 

Still if you had asked him the cause of this strife 
He'd have said he was tranqui'l as e'er in his life. 
The two weeks of waiting had slowly crawled past, 
It was June and the night of the Eighteenth, at last. 
As Denton walked down town, he suddenly thought 
About Mrs. St. Clair. He was certain he ought 
To have planned with Miss Nora, or figured some play 
So the madam would surely be out of the way. 
He stood on the office steps, thinking. His glance 
Looked over a neighboring cross street, by chance. 
And there went the colonel, his splendid black pair, 
And smiling beside him sat Mrs. St. Clair. 
The colonel was pointing, with interest strong, 
To the beautiful landscape, while driving along. 
' And explaining its features of interest, yet 
There was one little item he seemed to forget. 
He omitted to state to the fair la'dy why, 
As he came past the corner, and caught Denton's eye, 
He drew his mouth sideways, a little a-wry. 



NORA. 109 

John had felt rather solemn when first standing there, 
Then his blues yielded place to a wondering stare 
When he noticed the colonel and Mrs. St. Clair. 
Then his load of anxiety licrhtened by half 
And he straightway indulged in a long, hearty laugh. 
"That colonel's a prince!" to himself murmured he, 
Then hurried away the fair Nora to see. 

The St. Clairs' humble cottage was cozy and neat. 

It was white, with green blinds, and stood back from the street 

In a cluster of maples, whose broad branches made, 

Through the warm months of summer, a most grateful shade. 

Nora's favorite nook, where her hammock was swung, 

Was beneath a huge tree where the bows overhung. 

'Twas a beautiful spot — a secluded one, too. 

For a wide spreading lilac half hid it from view. 

On this quiet June evening there came through the gloom 

Of the gathering twilight the floating perfume 

Which in flowers of summer doth ever abide. 



no NORA. 

The roses were nodding on every side. 

And of all the fair roses in that nook so bright 

The fairest of all, on this balmy June night 

Was the beautiful girl, in her hammock who swung, 

Awaiting her lover, the roses among. 

So swinging, she idly the moments beguiled 

In resting and thinking, — and drowsily smiled. 

And the place was so still, and the perfume so deep. 

And her eyelids so heavy, she fell fast asleep, 

And there Denton found her. He watched her awhile 

As her dainty lips moved with a flickering smile, 

Then he bent down and kissed her. Her eyes opened wide, 

"Is it you, dear?" she murmured — "Sit here by my side." 

I must have been sleeping — I didn't mean to. 

I was happy this evening, John, waiting for you." 

"Then I don't need to fear your decision, I guess." 

"No, dearest," she whispered, "my answer is yes." 

John kissed her, and thanked her. Kind reader, I pray 

From that scene, holy, sacred, let us come away. 



NORA. Ill 

True love is too rare for a line or a hint 
To intrude on its privacy, even in print. 

When the evening waxed late and John started to go 
Nora, clinging close to him, said ''Dearest, I know 
In the fortnight just past you have been full of doubt. 
You have worried much, John, and been anxious about 
The strength of my love, and devotion to you. 
And whether I would to my lover be true. 
That worry, till now, you have had to endure. 
There was so much to think of I couldn't be sure. 
But now, John, that worry must no longer irk. 
The whole of your strength must go into your work. 

I will help you — not hinder — all coming months through. 
Do not doubt any more, dearest, — I will be true. 
And when you are tired, dear, when you are blue. 
Come always to me, John, and I'll comfort you. 
In success I'll assist your ambition and pride. 
In your failures I'm ready to work by your side. 



112 NORA. 

To-day my command of my life has begun 

To-day is my birthday, and I'm twenty-one. 

I have thought it all over, — the duty I owe 

To my mother — the farthest in reason I'd go 

To please her, but weak, in this case, is her sight., 

I know she is wrong, and I know I am right. 

So I'm ready, my lover, to go through the strife. 

If you're sure that you want me I will be your wife. 

For you I can go through a whole world of strife. 

Tomorrow the fight will begin, but this life 

Is only a battle, my lover, at best, 

And I'll fight for the love I have this day confessed. 

For when reason can sanction what impulse would say, 

When judgement can follow where love leads the way, 

True hearts remain firm, through the most bitter fight 

And the marriage that follows is honest and right." 

Said Denton "This world would be happier, far. 

There would be less of trouble, its progress to mar. 

If every young woman were plucky and true 



NORA. 113 

And kind, and courageous, my darling, like you." 

Two young lives were happy, two hearts very light 
As Denton and Nora exchanged their Good-night. 

Nora came down to breakfast calm, gentle, and fair. 

But she had a decided and positive air. 

She asked how her mother enjoyed her drive, ' - 

She helped with the work, and was keenly alive 

To all that her mother desired. All through 

The hours of the morning her nimble hands flew. 

With the work of the kitchen the swift moments fled 

Till the forenoon had vanished and nothing been said 

Of a personal nature. In kneading some bread 

The madam just paused for a moment to say 

To Nora, who labored a few feet away, 

"I suppose Mr. Denton called on }'ou last night. 

He always sneaks 'round here when I'm out of sight." 

Nora's cheeks colored scarlet, her eyes flashing fire. 

But she made no remark till she'd conquered her ire. 



114 NORA. 

Then quietly answered "It does seem to me 

That he was here to call. I presume he must be 

Quite lonely at times, for last evening he said 

He supposed he'd be happier when we w^ere wed." 

So saying, she balanced a pie in the air 

On the tips of three fingers too slender and fair 

For dough to disfigure them. Calm and sedate 

She ran a slim knife 'round the edge of the plate 

With the touch of an artist. Her mother's good bread 

Was instantly left. ''What is that?'' 

"He just said 
He supposed he'd be happier when w^e were wed." 
"Did he ask you to marry him?" she fairly screamed. 
"Oh the miserable wretch! Why I never had dreamed 
His audacity ever w'ould reach such degree. 
Well,— I will take care of him, — leave him to me." 
'T've attended to that, Mother,— fixed it for life, 
I have told Mr. Denton that I'll be his wife." 
The madam turned pale. "Why my daughter," said she, 



NORA 115 



"What nonsense is this you are telling to mc. 

You shall not do an act so erratic and wild! 

A wedding like that would disgrace us, my child!" 

Nora stopped her work also, — the pie in her hand,- 

Saying "Mother, you may just as w^ell understimd 

That while I appreciate fully the fact 

Of your care, and )'our kindness, and every act 

Of motherly love and attention; while, too. 

There is nothing in reason that I would not do 

To please you, still marriage is one thing on earth 

In which everyone is entitled by birth 

To a freedom of choice. Every woman or man 

Should marry the person he loves, if he can. 

Now I love John Denton. John Denton loves me. 

And John Denton I'm going to marry — you see?" 

She set down the pie with a positive air 

And fluted its edges, while Mrs. St Clair 

Stood in silent reflection a moment, and then 

The madam indignantly set forth again. 



ii6 NORA. 

"You never shall wed, under my roof, that man. 

And as to eloping, if that be your plan. 

If desperate measures you force, by your part. 

You shall both be arrested, the moment you start. 

If reason and kindness are naught in your sight, 

There's a law in the land for enforcing the right. 

You're a bad, disobedient, ungrateful child. 

I'll subdue you with harsh methods, failing with mild. 

Oh to think that my daughter such council has kept!" 

And she covered her face with her apron, and wept. 

Nora picked up a ki)ife, with a shrug and a sigh, 

And carved little holes in the top of the pie. 

For the steam to escape through. When Mrs. St. Clair, 

Finished weeping, her look was of martyred despair. 

Nora said "Listen, Mother,— I'll not deceive you, 

But I'll tell you just what I am going to do. 

There will be no elopement. We much would prefer 

That here at your home should the wedding occur. 

But if, when the day for our marriage is set. 



NORA. 117 

In regard to the matter you're obstinate yet, 

At the minister's house will the services be, 

With no secret about it. Two people, you see, 

Of age, and both single, are given by law 

The right to be married, and you never saw 

Any power in the land can their promise undo 

If they have any courage and both remain true. 

Now if you've an idea of disturbing the peace, 

Mr. Denton will speak to the Chief of Police, 

A.nd he'll send a patrol and some officers, so 

To be sure all is still and the services go. 

For when reason can sanction what impulse would say, 

When judgment can follow where love leads the way 

True lovers stand firm through the bitterest fight. 

And the marriage that follows is proper and right; 

And I love John Denton, John Denton loves me. 

And John Denton I'm going to wed! Do You See?" 

She then left her mother, and also the pie. 

And went to her room for another good cry. 



CHAPTER X. 

Susan Anthony, mistress of speech and of pen, 

Remarked oftentimes that the more she knew men 

The more she loved dogs. There is many a man 

Who could set forth his views on a similar plan, 

And could state, with strong feeling and interest keen, 

From the depths of his soul, that the more he had seen 

Of women, the more he loved horses. Each sex 

Has much in its nature the other to vex. 

We are likely to judge of the brave or the fair 

By the color of glasses we happen to wear. 

Our view^s, dark or light, of a whole sex has grown 

From some little love affair, purely our own. 

Like the fabled blind men and the elephant, so 

We judge the whole world by the little w^e know. 



NORA. 

Said John to the colonel, "I told you I knew 

In spite of your warnings, that Nora was true." 

In the colonel's apartments as often before. 

The two men sat smoking, the same as of }'ore. 

Said the colonel '^Excuse me — I fear to offend — 

But I want to inform }'ou, my verdant young friend, 

You know nothing whatever about it. Your life 

Has never seen any real hardship or strife, 

So you think none exists. You are somewhat inclined 

To think any person of cynical mind 

Who isn't as lucky as you. There are men. 

And I've run across them again and again. 

Who skip this life's troubles, and seem to go through 

To an easy success in whatever the}' do, 

And glide smoothly on, with no effort at all. 

While thousands of smarter men struggle and fall. 

I rejoice in your fortune, but, Johnn\', don't say 

That you know a girl's true till she's tested." 

"You mav 



119 



120 NORA. 

Be correct in that, Colonel." 

"Yes, Johnny, my boy, 
There is nothing for me to more fully enjoy 
Than to see you made happy. Since I am long through 
With hope for my own peace, the next best to do 
For my own satisfaction, is working for you. 
But listen, now, Johnny, — this fight is not done. 
In fact I believe it is only begun. 
I tell you that woman's a fury." 

"But how, 
Pray tell me, my friend, can she injure me now?" 
"It is hard to determine, to certain degree, 
But I think her next movement would naturally be 
To apparently sanction the fair Nora's choice, 
Then, meek and submissive, with sweet, honeyed voice, 
Regret, to Miss Nora, the newly found fact. 
That you have deceived her. This claim will be backed 
By alleged misdemeanors of yours, and of these 
Some gross immorality likely will please 



XORA 121 

Her very shrewd fancy." 

"But no one can find 
Anvthins: in mv record that — " 

"She wouldn't mind 

Such trifles as facts, when her fancy could tell 
Some nice little fiction would answer as well." 
"Do you think she would lie?" 

"She prefers lies to tell 

At times when the truth would come out just as well. 
"Oh, Colonel, you're cynical." 

"Now, we will see. 
Your path may be smooth, but I want you to be 
Ever on the alert. When you feel any doubt 
Come to me with it, Johnny, — we'll figure it out." 
"Colonel, how can I thank you? You seem to have thrown 
As much thought on this matter as if 'twere your own. 
You're as staunch a friend to me — as watchful and true 
And help me as much as a father could do. 



122 NORA- 

I cannot see the motive. There's nothinor I've done 

To merit such kindness, since first it begun." 

John stood with his hat on, preparing to go. 

The colonel still smoked, as he paced to and fro. 

*Tt is selfishness, Johnny, — a man cannot live 

Without some friend, of some sort, to whom he can give 

His thought and affection. 'Tis common with men 

To lavish their favors on horses — and then 

I have heard of cases, at times in my life. 

When a man was encouraged to care for — his wife. 

Yours promised to be such an instance, you see, 

So to help matters on is a pleasure to me. 

When a man covets things which he cannot enjoy 

They're a pleasure to him second-handed, my boy. 

Come up any time you need help in the fight." 

'T will, — and a thousand thanks. Colonel. Good-night." 

As the weeks of the summer flew swifth^ from sight 
They left few events to remember their flight. 



NORA. 

To the little white cottao-e the colonel still came, — 

Not oft, but at intervals, — nearh' the same 

As usual. Madam was courting him yet 

But made little headway. Anon he'd forget 

To call upon her for a fortnight, and then 

Would come and invite her out driving again. 

Regarding John Denton, poor Mrs. St. Clair 

Appeared to have }'ielded in utter dispair. 

He called' ever}^ Sunday, and took Nora out 

To various parties and concerts. His doubt 

Of the madam's good faith had almost disappeared 

As the goal of his fond love's ambition he neared. 

The madam was kind to her daughter. Each move 

Was of deepest affection and motherly love. 

So good and forgiving was Mrs. St. Clair 

She beamed upon John with a motherly air 

Though with some resignation. The colonel and John 

Discussed the arrangements each week, pro and con, 

And smoked their cigars much as usual. Both 



123 



124 NORA. 

Were calm and contented. The colonel was loath 

To advance his suspicions. In August he planned 

To go to the Fair, but a business demand 

Of an unforseen nature delayed him at home, 

And so Denton went to Chicago alone 

While to visit it later the colonel would try. 

(The madam and Nora had gone in July). 

Thus ended the summer, as months often go, 

And what they've accomplished there's none of us know. 

One night in September, through rain and through^gloom 

There came bolting into the colonel's rich room 

John Denton. His face wore a look of despair 

As hurling his mackintosh onto a chair, 

He sank on the lounge. "I'm beaten!" said he. 

"At this late day Nora is questioning me! 

Curse the luck anyhow!" Silence profound 

Reigned for some moments th' apartment around. 

Then the colonel looked up, slightly turning his head. 

"Well, Johnny, what is there about it?" he said. 



NORA. 

'*I went up there tonight, and she said I possessed 
Bad qualities, of which she never had guessed, — 
Said that she had stood by me against her own kin 
And now she felt wretched to learn of my sin. 
She said that her mother was kind as could be 
And didn't object any more, and that she 
Had nothing to do with this trouble." 

"You say 
That she jilted you, Johnny, and sent you away?" 
"Why no, — not exactly. She felt hurt, she said, 
To discover the man she had promised to wed 
Had broken his faith." 

"Did the lady say what 
Your offenses consisted of?" 

"No, she did not." 
Did you ask her?" 

"Yes, surely." 

"And wouldn't she tell?' 
"No. She onl}^ would say that I knew very well." 



125 



126 NORA. 

"Do you have any notion to what she alludes?" 

"No. Love like I've given her wholly precludes 

Any immoral conduct, or such thought in mind 

Even if, for a moment, I'd felt so inclined." 

The colonel leaned back in his large easy chair, 

Blew a volume of curling white smoke in the air. 

"She's a real pleasant lady, — this Mrs. St. Clair." 

John stared in amazement. "You think it is she?" 

"Of course it is, Johnny, — who else could it be? 

"But how can I manage? Pray, what can I do?" 

"Just wait a few days, my boy, — I'll fight this through!" 

A day or two later, the colonel's black pair 

Drove up to the cottage, and Mrs. St. Clair, 

All powder and smiles, soon was seated beside 

Her intended victim, to go for a ride. 

Said the colonel, I've rather been thinking, of late, 

That to live all alone is a very hard fate. 

And I " 



NORA. 127 

"Oh, my dear colonel — it surely must be 
To a crentleman. It is indeed so to me!" 
And she nestled up closer. The colonel did seem 
To require his attention to manage his team 
Then resumed, "I was saying, — oh yes, by the way. 
This young Mr. Denton, the rumors do say, 
Is going to marry your daughter. Is he 
The man of position that your son should be?" 
''They shall never be married! He made the child say 
She would marry him sometime this fall anyway, 
The impudent villain! Indeed we shall see 
Whether such an imposter shall circumvent me!" 
"You intend to prevent it?" 

"Indeed! That I do! 
And fortunate was I the other day too. 
There is old Mrs. Shattock who keeps the hotel 
Where the young man is stopping, and doesn't she tell 
That he flirts with a waitress! I haven't a doubt 
He's a wicked young man, if the truth were found out. 



128 NORA. 

So I told that to Nora. I guess we shall see 

If that impudent fellow will out-figure me. 

No, Colonel, my daughter shall not so disgrace 

Us all. She shall marry a high social place. 

You need have no fears about that." And she smiled 

So sweetly it would have a statue beguiled. 

But the colonel was suddenly silent. No trace 

Of his thoughts or emotions appeared on his face. 

He shortly discovered, much to his chagrin, 

That the off horse was lame and would have to go in. 

He apologized, — said he was loath to deprive 

Himself of such pleasure. There ended the drive. 

Mrs. Shattock was thin. Her most earnest demand 
Was that people about her should all understand 
She was just as good's anyone. Having fears, lest 
Some person should fail to be duly impressed 
With this fact, she explained it to everyone. 
Her duties at supper were just fairly done 



NORA. 129 

One night in September, when somebod}' said 

That a gentleman wanted to see her. She sped 

To the parlor, and there found a tall, handsome man, 

Who was built a good deal on the soldierly plan. 

As she entered the parlor the stranger arose 

And bowed. "Mrs. Shattock," he said, "I suppose. 

Madam, my name is Warren. I called upon }ou 

To find out, if possible, whether you knew 

About one John Denton, — to learn, if I can. 

The real moral character of the young man." 

*T haint never seen nothin' thet looked the least queer. 

Ef I hed, you can bet he would git out o'here. 

My house is respectable, I'd have you know, 

I'm es good es the rest ef I aint hed no show 

Per fanciful learnin'. My grandfather " 

"Yes, 
That's a comforting knowledge for one, I confess. 
I knew of your family's position, and so 
Came to you for the facts that I wanted to know. 



130 



NORA. 



Depending, of course, (with the deepest respect) 

I'd secure the facts promptly, and wholly correct." 

The fair lady melted. "I'll give up," said she, 

Any facts about him thet is knowin' to me." 

-*Many thanks Madam, you are exceedingly kind. 

Now you say, I believe, that you don't ever find 

Anything about Denton which ought not to be?" 

Said the lady, emphatically. "That's the idee." 

"Well, now, did you ever tell anyone here 

He was flirting with waitresses?" She rubbed her ear 

With the palm of her hand, as she answered "Well, there! 

I guess I said something to Mrs. St. Clair, 

She called here one day, (I don't know jest what fer, 

'Cause I aint never had no acquaintance 'th her). 

Though I'm jest as good's she be. My grandfather, Gee! 

There's a feller a-settin there I didn't see." 
"Yes," said the colonel, "he's waiting for me. 
You were saying that Mrs. St. Clair called." 

"Yes. She 



NORA 131 

Asked about Mr. Denton, es clost es could be 

An' we set on the steps, an' she queried an pressed. 

An' I said ]\Ir. Denton was all right, I guessed, 

An' leastways givin' waiters a posy or two 

Was the worstest misdeed ever I seen him do. 

Lord! I wouldn't stan' it! This hotel of mine 

'S a respectable house es \'ou ever'U find. 

An' a lady like me wouldn't feel much inclined 

To have it disgraced. My own grandfather " 

"Yes. 

Many thanks~my dear Madam I'll go now, I guess." 

And he bowed himself out, through the hall, lighted dim. 
Followed bv the ^'oun"■ man who was waitingr for him. 

Why go into the details of thoughts pro and con 
Which cemented the union of Nora and John? 

'Tis a story of alternate trusting and doubt. 

The very same story we all know about. 

'Tis a story all know, with its joys and its fears, 



132 



NORA. 



And its heavenly raptures commingled with tears. 

Would that all love affairs found an ending as bright, 

With as noble a colonel commanding the fight. 

Do we still need an outline of how it was done, 

How Nora's doubt vanished and John's suit was won? 

When John came to see him the colonel explained 

The calls he had made and the knowledge he'd gained. 

Then a short-hand report, all type-written, he read. 

Of all that the fair Mrs. Shattock had said, 

(Written back in the corner, where shadows were dim, 

By the solemn young man who was waiting for him). 

It was signed by the clerk and good colonel, both. 

It was duly acknowledged and witnessed, on oath. 

This paper John handed to Nora, and she 

Was a penitent sweetheart as ever could be. 

Unnatural lying and deceptive art 

Had tried to mancevre two lovers apart. 

But a brain, older, stronger, the pathway had crossed 

And won them the battle, where they would have lost. 



CHAPTER XL 
IVith a dashing }'OLing girl or a saucy coquette 
The better \'ou treat her, the meaner she'll get. 
But a fellow will make the mistake of his life 
If he thinks that this maxim applies to a wife. 
If you marr}^ a woman who's noble and true, — 
Whom }^ou know that \'Ou love and }^ou're certain loves you, 
Then the measure of bliss }^ou will win as you mead 
Will depend, in large measure, on how }^ou proceed. 
If of love and attention she never has dearth 
You will probably find her an angel on earth. 
If you slight and neglect her, or e'er go about 
With a sweet smile for others, then. Brother, look out. 
If your wife be the highest in womanh^ grace 
Then her smile and her kiss will be apt to give place 



134 NORA. 

To a sneering, sarcastic, and fault-finding way 

That will ruin your home as a good place to stay. 

She will scold you, upbraid you, from evening till dawn 

Till the peace of your fire-side is totally gone. 

If, perchance, your wife's conscience should have less to say, 

And you still flirt with others, or oft are away, 

Of other men's smiles there will not be a lack, 

And your poor, lonely wife will be apt to smile back. 

In either case, Brother, the maxim will hold, — 

If you value your home, be not absent, nor cold. 

No sage ever more solemn maxim can tell. 

If you have a home, stay there: — attend to it well. 

For the tenth of October the wedding was set. 
Nora now was completely determined, — and yet 
In the weeks intervening before the glad day, 
When Denton was with her, she often would say 
How much brighter this happiest time of her youth 
Had her mother been honest, and told her the truth. 



NORA. 135 

It is hard to see children go reckless and wild. 
It is worse to see mother untrue to her child. 

John rented a house from the colonel, 'Twas small, 

But was large enough, surely, to hold more than all 

That Denton could purchase. His father appeared, 

And with humble assistance the cozy nest cheered. 

A huge load of stove-wood he brought from the farm. 

Saying "Nests are more comfortable when they are warm." 

Of potatoes and apples a plentiful store, 

He brought pumpkins, and cider, and squashes galore. 

Then he and John's mother selected, apace. 

The whole kitchen outfit and put it in place. 

And the honest old man, as he loosened the strings 

Of his old leather wallet, to pay for the things, 

Was thoroughly happy, and said to his wife. 

That he "Guessed John was purty well started in life." 

And with every comfort the cottage they stored 

Which their love could devise and their purse could afford- 



136 NORA. 

Yet ever there present, as near came the day, 

Aud even more anxious and thoughtful than they, 

Was the Colonel. He helped John with every plan 

The same as he had since the courtship began. 

Abler far than the father, — as kind and as true. 

He often said "Johnny, we'll see this thing through." 

Then again he would stand, with his gaze far away. 

And when Denton came near him "Well, Johnny," he'd say, 

"She's a girl in a million. I hope you'll enjoy 

All the comfort that earth has for mortals, my boy." 

He was kind as a father, devoted and mild. 

As firm as a rock, and as meek as a child. 

Nora's mother had yielded, — had finally said 

That beneath her own roof should her daughter be wed. 

In the role of a martyr, as such people will, 

She helped in no manner, — she merely kept still. 

The wedding day came. A half dozen were there. 



NORA 137 

The brief words were said, and a short, honest prayer. 

As Denton the senior kissed Nora, a bride. 

He handed his son, smiling" there b}' her side, 

A nicely-filled purse. As his son's jo\' he read, 

"Be happy m\- children. God bless }'ou." he said. 

John's mother, in old-fashoned, matronly wa\-, 

Welcomed Xora, in all that a mother could sa\'. 

And then in a chill}- and martyr-like air, 

Came the formal hand shaking of ]\Irs. St. Clair. 

And lastl}- the colonel, with dignified grace. 

Calmly handed to Xora a deed of the place 

John had rented. He offered no kiss to the bride. 

He shook hands with both but his tongue remained tied. 

He was smiling and bright, but had nothing to say. 

He stood in the back-eround. and soon went awa\-. 



is' 



Two days in Detroit the bridal pair spent. 
Then snug in their own little cottage content. 

With no air}' fancies or ambitions rife. 



138 NORA- 

They at once settled down to their work-a-day life. 

On the night of the nineteenth John's parents were there 

To supper, as also was Mrs. St. Clair. • 

The colonel refused, though reluctantly, quite. 

He intended to start for Chicago that night. 

And some matters of business detained him. Quite late, 

When they sat in the parlor, a little past eight. 

The colonel appeared, and "Say Johnny," quoth he, 

'*I would like you to come down and visit with me 

In the way that we used to. My train goes at three. 

You will not very often be with me, my boy, 

In the jolly old way that we used to enjoy. 

I have got to give you up, the same asjthe rest 

Of the brightness that ever my loneliness blessed. 

Your mother will be here with Nora tonight. 

Come down and we'll smokeln the grate's ghostly light." 

His voice sounded strangely, like some little^boy 

In sorrow would plead for a coveted toy. 

John consulted with Nora. She told him to go 



NORA. 139 

And so they decided between them, although 
They said to each other they'd never have guessed 
That the colonel would make such a funny request. 
John went with the colonel. They sat by the fire 

As of old, as the colonel expressed his desire. 

After moments of silence " Well Johnny," said he, 
"Twas a crazy request to come down here with me 

But I wanted to tell you 1 meant to before 

That we never will sit here and smoke any more 

And some things there are that I wanted to say, 

To you, boy, in private, before I go 'way. 

Yes, I'm coming back, Johnny, — that is — I don't know. 

I want you to listen now, for, when I go, 

I may not remember it's you, don't you see, 

That I wanted to talk about — never mind me — . 

I want you, my boy, to avoid the mistake 

Which young, thoughtless husbands so frequently make. 

Do not court the destruction of peaceful home life 

By giving too little of care to your wife. 



140 NORA. 

Do not grow inattentive, as many men do, 

Expecting your wife to be faithful to you 

In each thought and act. You have won. Now be wise. 

Your wife is an angel: — take care of your prize." 

*'Why, Colonel," said John, "I do not understand 

What care you advise that a wife would demand, 

For surely you wouldn't presume to infer 

That Nora needs watching. I'll take no such slur, — 

Not even from you." 

"Come now Johnny ,be cool. 
Don't misunderstand me and act like a fool. 
If now, here, this evening, a word can be said 
Which may serve as a warning for you, years ahead, 
And can save you and Nora one moment of pain 
It is well worth the time, Johnny. -I will explain." 
He was silent some moments, then spoke. "Johnny, say, 
Tell me — how many evenings have you been away 
In the week you've been married?" 

"Why,— four, but I 



NORA. 141 

''Yes, 

I thought so. Well now I can tell you, I guess, 

So you'll see what I mean, your home and your wife 

Are your dearest possessions in this earthly life. 
Let your Club, and )'our Band, and your Order be thrown 
To the winds. They're for men who are living alone. 
Nora lives but to grant what }-our wishes demand, 
But there's limit, in time, to what angels will stand. 
And neglect can destroy the affection of youth 
If anything can. Yes my boy, that's the truth. 
Woman's heart has a void naught but kindness can fill. 
If her husband dont pet her some other man will. 
Some wives have been false to their marital oath 
Who were starving for kisses, or kindness, or both. 
When a few more caresses, — a little more love 
Would have kept them as pure as the angels above, 
And we never shall know till the last judgem ent day 
Who is really to blame for their going astray. 
The woman who cannot be tempted is such 



142 NORA. 

That for wife and companion she's not good for much. 
Nora's warm and affectionate, loving and true, 
And at home, after tea, is the best place for you." 
Denton 'rose from his chair and went pacing the flour, 
*'You are right on that, Colonel, as always you are, 
And your warning may save me a family jar 
At some time in the future. Say,^what do boys do 
Who have no crood friend and advisor like vou?" 
"They suffer, as I've suffered. If I had known 
In youth what I now do, I'd never have grown 
So bitter and cynical. That's cruel fate. 
Men seldom learn wisdom until it's too late. 
See to it that your life be not overcast 
By blunders and sorrow, boy, — mine has gone past. 
Avoid all these errors you see in my life. 
Now Johnny, go home to your brave little wife. 
Take care of her, cherish her, love her, my friend. 
Devote your life to her, until life shall end. 
And if ever I've helped you, my boy, in the fight. 



NORA. 143 

Remember the old colonel sometimes. Good night." 

John Denton went home. With the lamp burning dim 
Nora sat in her rocking-chair, waiting for him. 
They sat there and talked before going to bed 
And he told to her all that the colonel had said. 
Tears came to her eyes in a moment, and she 
Came close to her husband and sat on his knee, 
And the love-light shone brighter, perhaps, for the tear 
As she said "You will stay with me evenings, dear?" 
As he looked in her face Denton's own eyes would fill, 
And he answered her sotu-, "Yes Nora, I will." 



CHAPTER XII. 

Is there truth in the omens of mystical lore, 

And do coming events cast their shadows before? 

Do invisible forces announce to the mind 

The tangible fact but a short way behind 

Like the dull floating clouds and the air murky warm 

And the hot puffy breezes, are earnests of storm? 

Nora woke from her sleep, heard the clock striking four 
And imagined sJie heard a faint knock at the door. 
She awakened her husband; both listened; and then, 
Distinct and impatient, it sounded again. 
John called "Who is there?" ere he lifted the latch. 
Prompt came the reply "Western Union despatch." 
John opened and read, by a. candle's dim light. 



NORA. 145 

"Number nine west-bound wrecked on the Grand Trunk tonight 

Nichols crossing no limit amount we will use 

Take first special rush copy. 

Evening News." 
With the coolness and nerve of a newspaper man 
John started, while dressing, to make out a plan 
And mode of proceedure. "This clock is too slow. 
It is now nearly five — there is no way to go 
Except by the Trunk. There is nothing to do 
But go down and wait till there's something comes through.'* 
As, five minutes later, he lifted the latch. 
He met a small boy with another dispatch. 

It said "Nichols ten-twenty four-fifty-two 

Colonel Warren hurt fatally says wire you." 

Nora picked up both messages, silently read. 

And then laid them down, and "Good by, dear," she said. 

John hastily kissed her and down-town he sped. 

For an hour and a half John could do naught but wait 



146 NORA. 

And anxiously wonder about Colonel's fate. 

Then a special train came, and with sorrow intent, 

To the terrible scene of disaster he went. 

Twas a "head-on" collision. "Thirteen," going east, 

Left the Battle Creek depot, and slowly increased 

Its speed till, at Nichols, with thunderous din. 

She sidited the fast "Number nine," coming in. 

Then came the collision. The two engines 'rose 

With their noses together, up-ended, and those 

In the coaches on "Thirteen" escaped with a fright. 

A few received injuries, but they were slight. 

The two forward coaches of "Nine" telescoped, 

And there, in grim chaos, the poor wretches groped. 

The oil lamps were broken, the ruins caught fire, 

And never was terror or torture more dire. 

People were pinned in the ruins and cooked, 

While upon them, in helplessness, bystanders looked. 

When Denton arrived, the worst terror was through. 

And there reallv was little remaining to do 



NORA 147 

Toward easing the sufferers. Somebody said 
Warren still was alive, — at the hotel, — in bed. 

John soon found the colonel, his face pale and white. 

But his gray eyes still filled with a good-natured light. 

John stepped to the bedside. "Well, Colonel," said he, 

"You are not as bad off as I feared you would be. 

I wall get you back home and it won't take you long 

Until you'll be yourself ao"ain, hearty and strons"." 

"No Johnny, sit down here, — there's nothing to do. 

My limbs are all mangled, — the battle is through. 

I keep growling weaker, with every breath, 

And I only am Ivino; here waiting for death. 

I am glad you came, Johnny, — the finish is near 

And the solomn Death Angel is almost here. 

I scarcely can realize, Johnny, that I 

Am mortalh' wounded and quickly must die. 

But Johnny, I'm thankful m}- labors are o'er. 

I have suffered enough. To have suffered much more 



148 NORA. 

Might have made me grow bitter. I've struggled to be 

What I thonght that my Maker demanded of me. 

I have nothing to live for. 1 dont want to stay, 

I am glad I am through and am going away. 

I have suffered and struggled, my bravest and best, 

And I look upon Death with a feeling of rest. 

Like a convict whose terms has expired, and he 

Rejoices to know that he soon will be free. 

So have I served my sentence the best that I could 

A hopeless, life-sentence of bachelorhood, 

A sentence imposed by the Powers above 

When my only crime was an honest love: 

A love so deep, so strong, so true 

That I couldn't recover, as others do 

When thwarted and beaten. For thirty years 

A second's warning would bring the tears 

At any discussion of love, or life 

In a sunny home, with a happy wife. 

Many's the girl whom I might have wed 



\ 



NORA. 149 



And changed the miserable life I led, 

But I didn't love them, and wouldn't make 

A business contract for comfort's sake. 

I thought, if I did, some evil sprite 

Would haunt my bedside every night 

To tell of the love that I might have had, . 

And I thought the torture would drive me mad. 

Every carefully cherished plan, 

The passion that lives in a healthy man, 

The refining help that a home can bring. 

And crowning Love, — all, — everything 

That makes Life's labor a thing devine, — 

All were for others — the}" were not mine. 

My life's been a torture. As some starved child, 

With eyes dilated and staring wild 

Look in at a bakery, — so did I 

With seeing the coveted prizes, try 

To think me satisfied, as Ld roam. 

And know some friend with a happy home. 



150 



NORA. 



To a true, honest mind, I suppose the next best 

To begin of happiness fully possessed 

Is to have a dear friend, and to help him attain 

The measure of happiness we cannot gain, 

And yet I suppose it is equally true 

That the finest of torture man ever went through 

Is to live where he warms with his every breath 

That for which his own spirit is starving to death. 

I have tried, many times, to love someone I knew 

Would make me as noble a wife, and as true, 

As could any woman alive, — but no. 

There was something lacking — it wouldn't go. 

And the same old ghost of a love that's past 

Has stayed to torture me till the last. 

So, as far's I'm concerned, it is all right, you see, 

*Bout this accident, Johnny,— don't fret over me. 

Yes, — I am growing weak, but I want you to stay, 

While I visit life out in the same social way 

That we always have talked when you came to my room 



NORA. 151 

I don't like the usual sadness and gloom 

Of a death-bed — and Johnny, — 'tis not hard to die, 

And a mighty sight better to laugh than to cry. 

N — no, 1 have no relations to send for: they're dead. 

And -I — — don't think I want any prayers to be said. 

I never did pray very much, an^-how, 
And its rather too late to begin at it now. 

Well, give us your hand, Johnny, there boy, don't cry! 

I may have a home in the next world. — — Good-by," 
A bright ray of light o're the pillow was shed 
Where Denton lay weeping. The colonel was dead. 

My story is finished. Your interest would wane 

If further, in detail, I paused to explain. 

When the colonel was buried, there came, to attend, 

Poor people who said that the dead was their friend. 

And instances then came to light, not a few. 

Of kindnesses done, which no one ever knew; 

Of coal he had given, of schooling he'd paid, 



152 ^ NORA. 

Of deserving young men he had started in trade, — 
And many and many he'd helped in dark hours 
Came, weeping, and covered him over with flowers. 

On his library table, and unfolded still. 

The ink fresh upon it, they found Colonel's will. 

Where himself he had penned it, his last living night, 

After sending John home, with advice that was right. 

The singular preamble went on to state. 

And in simple, original way to relate 

That the testator had, by the rulings of Fate, 

Been always unhappy, and that he has been 

For a score of years yast, without family or kin; 

That a weak-hearted woman had ruined his life; 

That Mrs. John Denton, in similar strife, 

Had proven by action heroic the fact 

That women have love, by true sentiment backed. 

The document further proceeded to say 

That he loved Mr. Denton as true as father may 



NORA 

Love a promising son; and that therefore he, there, 
Being then of sound mind, did bequeath and declare 
His entire estate, when he quitted this life. 
To his young friend John Denton and Nora, his wife. 

As to Mrs. St. Clair, there is little to say. 

She called on the young folks, but day after day 

She grew more officious and meddling. She tried 

In small ways to make Nora dissatisfied 

With her home and her husband. She criticised John 

For every defect she could lay eyes upon. 

And finally, though much in patience he bore, 

John told her she needn't come there any more, 

And Nora sustained him. Then Mrs. St. Clair, 

With a pious, reproachful, and martyr-like air. 

Evolved a new theory and fixed up a plan 

About Genesis, and the Creation of Man, 

And she wrote a long tract, and in every church 

For ten miles around she continued a search 



153 



154 NORA- 

For some one to listen to her while she read, 
And she argued it with them until they were dead. 

John and Nora lived happily. Never a jar 

Came into their home, its true love-light to mar. 

John was kind and attentive as lover could be 

And Nora e'en gentler and kinder than he. 

More than once it occured that when Nora was ill 

Would her pretty mouth quiver, her handsome eyes fill, 

And "John," she would say "how I wish that I, too, 

Had my mother to help me, as other girls do." 

John would answer "Naught, Darling would better suit me. 

But still you know, Nora, just how it would be." 

"Yes, I know," Nora'd say. "She would make trouble here. 

You'll stay at home with with me today — won't you dear?" 

Sometimes John would ask if she ever felt yet 

For her true love's decision a bitter regret. 

Or wished that in those times of doubt, dark and dim. 

She had clung to her mother instead of to him. 



NORA. 

Her reply would be "No, John, the step I took then 

I would do with much less hesitation again. 

For when Reason can sanction what Impulse would say, 

When Judgment can follow where Love leads the way, 

Strong hearts will stand true, through the most bitter fight, 

And the marriage that follows is honest and right." 

The End. 



155 



StP-l\3:4 



